Liam O'Flaherty: Land

Captain Butcher suddenly lost the exuberant energy of his rage. He now looked like a man struggling to retain control of himself in spite of acute pain.

“I just want to look around your kitchen,” he muttered, “and ask your servant a few questions. The fellow undoubtedly crossed the river on to your property. He’s not in any of the out-houses and there is nowhere else …”

“I must ask you to lower your voice,” Raoul said as they went along the hall towards the kitchen. “My sister is in the living-room and she has been very much upset by your dog.”

Butcher’s cheeks had paled owing to the severe pain he was enduring. They reddened once more in anger at Raoul’s contemptuous tone. He doubled his fists.

“You swine!” he muttered under his breath. “You are going to pay for every word in due course.”

The kitchen was full of smoke. It was difficult to breathe there, or to see anything clearly. The chimney was not drawing properly, a usual occurrence when there was a heavy mist. The smoke kept billowing out at irregular intervals from the enormous turf fire. Several pots and kettles of water were boiling on the hobs at either side of the grate. They added clouds of steam to the acrid-smelling peat smoke. A still further cloud of smoke came from a large cauldron that was suspended by iron hooks from the chimney frame.

Annie Fitzpatrick stood at one side of a long table with a knife in her hand. She had been peeling potatoes. She began to tremble as Butcher walked over to her. His heavy field boots made a hollow sound on the flagstones of the floor.

“Did anybody come in here just now?” he said.

Instead of making a reply, Annie dropped the knife on to the table hurriedly, wiped her hands on her apron and ran to a corner of the room. She sat down abruptly on the settle-bed. This was a long deal chest, with a raised back and arms like a sofa. It was an article of furniture common at that time in country houses, being used as a bed during the night and a settle during the day. There was a rude curtain folded at one end.

“Why don’t you answer the gentleman?” said Raoul. “You mustn’t make a bad impression on a visitor.”

“I’m terrified of the dog, sir,” Annie said. “He has the life frightened out of me. I’m not worth a red farthing after the fright he gave me.”

Raoul noticed that she was wearing a man’s cloth cap. Never having seen her wear such an article of dress during his month’s stay in the house, even though he made daily visits to the kitchen in an effort to improve her cooking, he felt sure that she was concealing something important from Captain Butcher. He felt gay as a result.

“Come now,” he said in a bantering tone, “you have no reason to feel alarmed. I have had the dog sent away. You mustn’t lose control of yourself, Annie, simply because a gentleman with so much charm as Captain Butcher condescends to pay us a visit. Answer his questions. Otherwise he may suspect that I’m in the habit of beating you.”

Encouraged by his bantering tone and by a furtive wink, Annie got to her feet and curtsied to Captain Butcher.

“Your honour,” she said, “I’d answer your question and welcome, only I’ve clean forgotten what it was in the first place. I’m all moidhered on account of the way you were shouting and the terrible barking of that heathen dog.”

“Did anybody come into the kitchen just now?” Butcher said.

“Miss Lettice came in with a jug,” Annie replied.

“Anybody else?” said Butcher.

“Who else would come in, sir?” she said quickly. “The labouring man is gone to Clash with the cart, to buy meal for the pigs. Miss Elizabeth never comes into the kitchen. Saving your presence, sir, the smell of cooking disagrees with her. I had the place to myself until Mr. Raoul came back from France with Miss Lettice. He does be coming nearly every day to show me the French way of doing things. He didn’t come in to-day, and there is a reason for that. There’s a lamb stew to-day and his honour told me himself that I make it better than any French person.”

“Quite true,” Raoul said to Captain Butcher. “She makes a really delicious stew. Are you interested in cooking, Captain? Alas! It’s a lost art in our country nowadays.”

Butcher glared at Raoul and walked over to the settle bed. He touched it with his boot.

“What’s in here?” he said.

“That’s the labouring man’s bed, sir,” Annie said eagerly. “There’s his mattress and his blankets and his bundle inside in it. Would your honour care to have a look?”

She raised the lid of the settle bed, exposing a sordid mattress and torn woollen blankets, from which an unpleasant odour of stale sweat issued. Butcher made a movement as if he were going to bend down and examine the interior. Instead, he made a grimace of disgust and turned away with an angry shrug of his shoulders.

“Why did you lock the door?” he said.

Annie closed the lid with an expression of relief on her face. Then she turned towards Butcher in quite a belligerent attitude.

“Arrah! Why wouldn’t I lock it?” she cried savagely. “Wasn’t your dog frightening the life out of me? Have the poor no rights at all? Lord save us, did you want me to stand here unprotected, with the door wide open, so that he could rush in and tear the immortal soul out of my body? Pruth! Is it coming to that? Must the poor let themselves be torn by wild animals, without turning a key in a lock to defend themselves?”

Butcher stared at her in silence for nearly a minute. He quite obviously did not believe a word of what she had said. Yet he took no further action. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. His face now looked terribly drawn and pale, as if he were on the point of collapse.

“Get on with your work, Annie,” Raoul said.

Annie dropped on to the settle bed, opened her mouth wide and let her arms hang limply by her sides.

“You’re not going, are you?” Raoul said cheerfully as he followed Butcher along the hall towards the door. “Why not search the whole house? It’s not very large. It wouldn’t take long. I rather enjoy hunting for an assassin in my own house.”

Butcher halted by the door and glared savagely at Raoul. He now had his hands pressed against his sides and he was breathing irregularly.

“Mr. St. George,” he said, “allow me to warn you that I am a very vindictive person. I have an idea that you may shortly regret your insolence.”

“I wonder!” said Raoul. “You don’t impress me as being a very dangerous enemy. On the other hand, your boorish manners make me inclined to …”

“You’ll rue the day you left France,” Butcher interrupted, gasping for breath.

“Frankly,” said Raoul, “I did regret leaving France until this moment. Now I think I’m going to enjoy living in County Mayo very much.”

Butcher strode out of the house, leaving the door open behind him.

“Murphy,” he called to his groom as he strode down the drive, “fetch my horse.”

“Coming, sir,” cried the groom from a distance. “Twous! Gee up there, Blazer.”

There was a sudden clatter of hooves and then the irregular rhythm of two horses trotting side by side. Butcher disappeared round a corner of the drive. His great boots, striking the gravel with their metal-tipped heels, made almost as much noise as the horses.

Raoul walked out on to the drive for a few yards and then halted. He rubbed his palms together and smiled.

“I intensely dislike that man,” he said in a passionate undertone. “He has grossly insulted me. Very well! I am going to destroy him.”

He sighed, turned around and re-entered the house. Having closed the door, he found himself face to face with Elizabeth in the hall.