Beauty and the Beast

"Well-married, a man is winged-ill-matched, he is shackled." - Henry Ward Beecher (1813 - 1887), Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit (1887)

Mrs. McTeague fluttered her fan and simpered at her prey-that is, her intended. "Charles, I'm so glad to see ye out of bed and looking so hearty. Every news I got from the doctor told me ye were not long for this world. And now look at ye! One would hardly think ye'd been ill." Mrs. McTeague eyed him shrewdly. In spite of her words of condolence, Charles Finn suspected she knew he hadn't been as sick as he pretended. Nevertheless, he carried on with the role of the recovering patient.

He shifted in the hard chair. The armrests were set a little too close together for comfort for his bulky frame and he felt ill at ease on the starched surface on the seat. Then again, that may have been from the company. "Well, the good news I had was enow to rally me. I thought that life was pulling me under. But now there's hope for me and me family to get out of your debt and begin life anew."

At the word "debt" calculation flickered in her watery blue eyes. It vanished the next instant as she smiled again. "Well, I must say this is glorious news indeed, Mr. Finn. I can see how this must be a wonderful day for you. I'm also very pleased that ye decided to tell me before anyone else in the village."

"Well, as my landlady, I thought ye needed to be the first seeing as I have to take a long journey. I didn't want ye to think I was skipping out on ye."

Her eyebrows raised, she feigned indignation. "As if I would have such an uncharitable thought! I trust ye completely." She paused expectantly and stared at him, her plump face shining and red from the hasty wash she'd given it when she heard he was at the door.

"What is it, ma'am?"

She simpered again. "Nae, there's no need to be so formal. Call me Sheila." She patted him on the arm playfully. At least, she must have thought it was playful. In truth she hit him with enough force to whack him soundly even through his clothes. He gritted his teeth manfully and tried not to flinch from the sting.

He continued, doing his best to disregard her attempts at familiarity. "I was wondering how soon ye could see fit to setting me up with a carriage. I-I've no money of me own to purchase one in the village and it's a long journey and nae much in the way of lodgings between here and Galway. I'll need to carry provisions, a change of clothes or two. I'll be willing to pay from the monies I get from the sale of the ship's goods."

She shook her head in disbelief. Tightly curled ringlets, tainted a suspicious yellow and bound under her cap, protruded onto her face. Mr. Finn thought distractedly that she looked like nothing so much as one of his former flock of sheep with its winter coat bunching around its head.

"Mr. Finn-may I call ye Charles?- since when has anything between us ever been a matter of money? I knew yer family was in impov, impov..." Her tongue stumbled over the unaccustomed word before she resumed. "In a poor way when ye first came to the village and I decided to do things strictly on the barter system. I see no reason why that should change."

She leaned forward, her substantial bosom nearly spilling out her corseted blouse and Charles kept his eyes firmly on her face to avoid looking at it. "Since ye'll be a rich man soon, ye'll not want to be my tenants any longer. So I see no reason for us not to be on an equal footing."

She shifted closer, her breath tickling his nose. He knew at once she'd had bacon, eggs with mushrooms and biscuits with jam for breakfast; he could see crumbs under her lower lip and smell the odor of the fungi on the fetid air from her mouth. He was this close to gagging and spilling his own breakfast on to those swaying teats of hers.

He smiled gamely and inched away as much as he dared. "If yer thinkin' what I think yer thinkin', then I must ask ye. Mrs. McTeague-Sheila-when could we set a date for a weddin'?"

She gaped and then beamed at him, a smile widening her face and exposing teeth blackened by consumption of too much sugar. "Ye mean it? Oh, Charles, this is so sudden! I didn't think ye felt that way about me!"

"Not at all. I think yer a fine figure of a woman." He smiled bravely at her and willed himself to keep a straight face as he spoke.

She raised her eyebrows. She may have been vain but she wasn't stupid. "Truly? On the few occasions when we first met, ye didn't seem all that impressed with me."

"Well, a man doesn't like to tip his hand right away. And I thought ye might still be pinin' for yer dead husband. He was a great man from aught I heard and a poor tenant like meself could hardly aspire to the likes of a rector's widow. So I may not have said so before. But I have thought about it. And if all goes well with the sale of the goods from the ship, I see no reason why there can't be wedding bells for us in the future." He paused for a moment. "May I take it the answer to me question is yes?"

"Of course it's yes!" She smiled and then frowned slightly. "And that was all? Nothin' else?"

What could she be on about now? "Well, sure. What else should there be?"

"Well, I was thinkin' there could be another tie between yer family and mine." She paused again and when he didn't seem inclined to take the hint, she reached into her bosom with her free hand. "I have a contract here, all drawn up, that says yer daughter Elizabeth and me son Shawn can be married along with the two of us. See?"

Charles Finn turned pale. "What?! Shawn and Elizabeth? B-but I was thinkin' this was summat that should be for us alone. One weddin' is hard enow to plan let alone two. I still remember what me first weddin' to me darlin' Mary was like." Actually, his wedding to Mary had consisted of an exchange of rings and carnal relations in the small abandoned hut they'd been secretly visiting for months. But what Sheila McTeague didn't know wouldn't hurt-him.

"I thought so too. That's why I've decided to make it a double weddin'. The two young folk can be married at the same time as you and me. That'll make things nice and simple and very quick."

"B-but that's nae necessary. Me daughter's flattered by yer son's attentions, truly, but-"

"Then it's settled." She stood and walked to her writing desk. She wrote only with great difficulty but she could sign her name and that would be enough for the business at hand.

"Nae, I didn't agree to this! Lizzy's still so young." He was hoping on fooling Mrs. McTeague on this matter. Lizzy was actually a woman of 22 but her small size made her appear much more youthful.

"Well, so am I. Me poor husband left me for the next world when I was still just a girl." She sighed melodramatically, her bosom heaving with the breath until they threatened to burst her stays. "As a woman of 32, it's been particularly hard on me these last five years since Mr. McTeague passed on to his just reward. I'm sure ye feel the same way." She fluttered her eyes at him and dabbed at them with a handkerchief clutched in one plump hand.

[Thirty-two? The woman's forty-five if she's a day.] Mr. Finn kept his face blank while he struggled to find a way out of this new dilemma. "Mrs. McTeague, what I'm trying to say is that me dear Lizzy is precious to me."
Sheila McTeague shrugged, dismissing his argument. "You have three other children just as I have two daughters. I'm sure they'll be enow to tend ye in yer old age."

"Nae, it's not that. Lizzy is worth more to me than gold; she reminds me so much of her dearly departed mother and I couldn't think of lettin' her marry when she's barely more than a child."

Her voice became brisk with no trace of the false warmth that had suffused it moments ago. "Think of it like this. Yer not losing a daughter; yer gaining a rich son-in-law." She raised her voice to a bellow. "Felicity! Hope! Get in here, please!"

It took several moments of calling before Sheila McTeague's plump daughters trod heavily into the sitting room. They stood there, no more expression on their faces than trees, and stared dully at their mother. "What is it, ma?" sighed Felicity-or was it Hope? She licked at her lips, her tongue catching stray bits of jam and biscuit clinging to them and belched faintly, wiping her mouth on the back of one chubby hand.

"Congratulate me, dears. Yer brother and I are getting married to the Finn family."

The girls turned their cloudy eyes toward Mr. Finn. "Oh, aye?" yawned the other girl.

"Aye. Yer going to be bridesmaids! But first I need ye to witness the signing of this document."

"Now hold on!" Finn thundered. He rose to his feet, glaring at this presumptuous woman and her oblivious daughters. "What kind of business is this? Ye'd have them wed when Shawn hasn't so much as proposed? That's being a mite forward for a woman of God, isn't it?"

Mrs. McTeague stared at him, her eyes suddenly flat and cold. "I'm afraid you must. If ye don't there'll be no carriage for ye and good luck finding one in the village that will let ye have it if I tell them nae."

His fists clenched. "Fine. I'll send me son to do the business." That was an idle threat; Riley hadn't learned anything of the merchant business to do a proper job in his stead. But the grasping sow with him didn't know that.

She waved her hand airily, unimpressed with the threat. "Then ye would be forgettin' the other contract, the one ye signed as me tenants." She began reciting as if from memory. " 'The tenant co-signin' this lease and those co-habitating with him' that would be ye and yer family," she said while pointing to him. " 'Will agree to stay on and tend this land for a term no shorter than five years from the date of this contract. Any attempts to leave before the aforestated time is past without express permission from the landowner will be considered a breach of contract and will result in the immediate forfeiture of his lease and the seizure of his goods.' That means that if ye or any member of the family try leaving without me permission all yer belongings are mine and ye'll be forced off me property. So ye can go off if I say so. But yer son and the others stay here. Just as a security, ye understand." A rapacious smile, with no hint of womanly tenderness, flashed at him.

Was this true? He could barely remember the contract he'd scribbled his name on. He'd been so oppressed with his downturn in fortune that he'd barely glanced at the document, not that he would have understood it if he had. "Let me see it then."

She wagged a finger at him. "Nae, I'm not such a fool as all that. But if ye'd prefer to wait a bit we can have the magistrate up here to read it to ye. We can bring a notary to see about signing the other contract while we're at it."

Finn's fists clenched. If it weren't against his code to strike a woman, he'd have punched in that smarmy face of hers right then and there. But her daughters were watching him with those bovine looks and he didn't even know where this binding document was. It seemed the woman had him right where she wanted. He gulped and sat down again slowly.

"Nae, let's no be draggin' lawmen into this business. But what if I don' come back? Travellin' is nae always safe..."

"I'll take that into consideration. Just to be sure yer safe, I'll send one of me own carriages with a man of me own to watch over ye," she stated calmly. "If ye don' somehow return, I'll have the magistrate after ye. If it turns out yer dead, then I get all yer worldly possessions-such as they are-and yer family gets thrown off the land."

"All me worldly-" he sputtered. "That's nae fair! And it is nae in the contract!"

"Oh, but it is in this one!" She fluttered the marriage contract at him. "A woman has to look out for herself in this world and, if I do have the misfortune to be a widow again, I want to make certain there's summat left for me daughters. A mother has to look out for her children." She smiled at her two children who had plopped down heavily in adjacent chairs, tuning out their mother's conversation.

"But why? As ye've said, I'm a poor man and I've barely anything for me own children. Why seize what little I have left? Ye must have a sizeable dowry of yer own planned for them."

"But the sale of goods from yer ship will bring in a substantial sum, I'm sure. Ye said as much yerself. So if ye don' return, then any monies or the goods themselves will be given to me and my family." She noted his obvious distress and tapped her chin as if considering. "Then again, me Shawn is sweet on yer daughter. He's such a tenderhearted lad; yer Elizabeth would be very happy with him. I'm sure, no matter what her future fortunes or yers, he'd still be willing to marry her and that would save yer family from ruin and starvation. The money from the ship can be Elizabeth's dowry. There, everything's settled all neat and tidy."

A muscle jumped in Mr. Finn's jaw. An invisible net was being drawn around him and it felt as if it would choke off his breathing. "How can anybody have notarized this without me permission or even me being in the room? I'm the other party in this. Surely me life and that of me family can't be turned over to ye like we're so much cattle!"

She shrugged. "The magistrate is a cousin of mine. That's one of the joys of living in a small village. Everybody knows everybody else and most of the people here are related to me by blood or marriage. The law is a wondrous thing when the people concerned in it are willing to talk it over with ye and bend it to yer liking." She flashed another false smile at him. "But nothing's done. If ye decide not to sign the marriage contract, then ye'll be clapped into the local jailhouse if ye try to leave and yer children can fend for themselves. If they're half as resourceful as their da, I'm sure they can probably manage on their own."

Charles Finn stared at the piece of paper in her hand. Somehow, while he'd been playing the slug-a-bed, his life had been written on without him. How had it happened? How had his ambitions, his desire to better himself in the world and provide for his offspring brought him to this sorry pass? [Mary and Riley was right. I should have stayed with what I had. So what if I was naught but a smelly sheep farmer? Me land and me life was me own and no one could take it from me.]

He scrabbled around in his mind for a solution. Then it hit him. "Mrs. McTeague, I'm sure we can come to some agreement that doesn't have Lizzy marryin' into yer family when we've barely a shilling to our names."

Those narrow porcine eyes fastened unblinkingly on him. "Well? I'm listenin'."

"I'll make another bargain with ye. Instead of marryin' ye and Shawn marryin' me Elizabeth, why don' we agree to give ye a certain amount from the sale of the ship's goods? Say, 300 pounds?"

"Make it 2,000," she fired back.

He gritted his teeth. "Nae, that's more than twice the amount. Seven hundred and fifty."

"One thousand and fifty," she replied without missing a beat.

"Nine hundred and fifty. And any other monies are mine and go to me family on me death." He held up one rough, calloused hand. "That's me final offer. Take it or leave it."

She pursed her lips and considered. A stony, unreadable look had settled on his features. If she pressed him, he might be perfectly willing to get thrown into jail or send off his son to fare for him. "Very well."

Mrs. McTeague eyed him. She knew Mr. Finn to be a canny man. A man as rich and powerful as he had been didn't come to nothing just like that. Everybody knew Finns were wily and always had a plan to get themselves out of any sharp corner. She'd have to keep a watchful eye on him when they were married. For now she was fairly sure she had him over a barrel.
She sat at the desk and rang a bell. "I'll have one of the servants fetch the solicitor here. In the meantime, let's get that carriage for ye. I'm sure yer anxious to be on yer way."

__________

"Get me new satin slippers!" Darla cried excitedly.

"And a new hat! Something with a fur trim on the brim! And a rope of pearls and a ruby brooch and a cute little poodle." Cordelia counted on her fingers as she considered all the things she'd craved during their months of enforced poverty.

"Poodle? If you get yourself something like that, you can clean up the mess yourself, Cordy," Elizabeth said with a sniff.

"And we must get a piano! With sheet music from the latest songs!"

Riley shook his head in disbelief. "Sheet music? Are ye daft, Dar? Since when do you play the piano?"

"I can always learn, can't I?" Darla replied with asperity. "We can always hire a pianist to teach us. We learned to dance so how hard can it be to learn music?"

"And I want an ermine collar with black, no yellow, satin ties so I can wear it around my shoulders and matching yellow satin slippers with a floral decoration and two-inch heels in red..." Cordelia rattled on, taking no notice of the arguments from her siblings.

"Will you two slow down? I'll never remember all this." Mr. Finn waved his arms futilely. Ever since he'd come back from the McTeague's place in the woman's carriage, his older daughters had fluttered around him like excited hens, reciting him their demands. Only Riley and Elizabeth stood apart, the two glancing at each other with bemusement as he tried to accommodate his greedy older daughters.

"And if there aren't any poodles, could I have a pet parrot? Please?" Cordelia begged.

Riley snorted. "A pet parrot? That's all we need-something else chattering mindlessly around here."

"It's the only way I can be assured of intelligent conversation if you're the only other person in the room," Cordelia said with her trademark acrid sweetness.

Mr. Finn brushed Cordelia and Darla aside impatiently. "Away with ye. Yer too grasping for yer own good and no mistake." He glanced at his favorite daughter, brown eyes softening as he took in her amused look. "And ye, Lizzy? Is there naught ye want for yerself?"

Elizabeth shook her head. Frankly she thought it would take a whole fleet of ships to furnish enough money for everything her sisters wanted and a barrage of carriages to carry it all. She didn't want to burden her father any further than Cordelia and Darla had. Besides, she had everything she wanted. Her father was healthy again (although he'd never been really sick) and her brother was staying with the family. If all went well, they'd soon buy themselves out of the McTeague's clutches. Then they would be leaving this wretched place and that dreadful family behind them. "Nothing, father. I've got all I want."

"Oh, please!" Cordelia said with a roll of her eyes. "Like you haven't been longing for grand things ever since we came to this place."

"Don't try to pretend you're above it all, Elizabeth. We know better," Darla added tartly. "Think about going back to Galway in style. Maybe Ryan is still there, pining and eating his heart out for you."

Elizabeth stared at her blankly. "Ryan?" She'd actually forgotten all about him. The hard life in the country had left no time to think of anything as meaningless as an attraction that had never gotten past rumor and hearsay.

"Or some other boy. Somebody with rank and breeding," Cordelia corrected with a pointed look at Darla.

"Let's not build too many castles in the air," Mr. Finn warned. "I've yet to see how well the goods weathered the storms or what they'll fetch. We don' want to think of Elizabeth-or the rest of ye-married off yet."

At the thought of marriage, he quailed inwardly. If he didn't return or came back with less than the promised sum, his beloved daughter was forfeit to that McTeague rascal. He hadn't been able to bring himself to tell that to her; the other contract had remained a secret between him and Sheila McTeague. Her despair would be more than he could take. For the moment, they were happy. Let them remain so until he found a way out of their latest trouble.

He'd talk to Mr. Morgan. The man was a solicitor of sales and property. Marriages and such social contracts might not be his field. But he might be able to help Finn with this problem or know someone who could.

First things first. He extended his hands to Elizabeth, his voice softening. "Lizzy, ye still haven't told me what ye want."

She shrugged, wrinkling her nose as she tried to think of a precious object that wouldn't be too costly or cumbersome for her father to bring back to her. Then her eyes brightened, turning to green. "Oh, I know! Get me some of those rose seeds ye were bringing back."

"I don' know if this ship is the one that held the seeds, Lizzy."

"Oh. Well, if it isn't, then get me a rose from elsewhere."

He waited and then realized nothing more was forthcoming. "That's it, lass? That's all ye truly want?"

"That's all, father."

Cordelia and Darla were vocal in their disbelief about her stated wish. But Elizabeth remained firm. Let her sisters ask for jewelry and fine dresses. She recalled as if from a long forgotten dream the elusive fragrance of a rose and suddenly desired it with a fierce ache. Riley squeezed her around the shoulder at her determined expression and she beamed up at him, grateful for his silent understanding.

Mr. Finn smiled and waved at his family as he departed on the carriage, Cordelia and Darla calling out last minute additions to their list of baubles and trinkets. Even though he inwardly warned himself to cautious, he couldn't help the giddy joy bubbling within him. He would see what he could get from the ship. Then there was plenty of time to plan the future.

__________

Mr. Charles Finn could hardly contain his disappointment. "Nothin'? You mean there's nothin' left?"

"Practically the moment the ship docked, the creditors descended on it like ravenous wolves and seized everything to pay off your remaining debts. I'm more sorry than I can say, Mr. Finn."

"Stop saying that," he growled, something of the old Finn fire lighting up his dark eyes. "Yer nae sorry. At least not as sorry as I am."

"I know that. Trust me. I was merely expressing my condolences. But, as I told you, as soon as the ship docked the goods were seized and sold to pay off your outstanding debts. You're fortunate that letter I sent found you before the creditors did. Otherwise you'd never have known a moment's peace in your new home." Mr. Morgan gazed at him with something like sympathy in his eyes. "Mr. Finn, do believe me. You were a valued client of mine for many years. You made me and my firm quite a bit of money. For that reason alone, I was as sorry to lose your custom. I was ecstatic when I heard news of the ship returning to port and just as dismayed as you when I realized that all the assets were seized. This hurt me as much as it did you."

"Be doubting that," Finn snapped. He turned to stare out the second story window to the bustling streets below.

"Mr. Finn." Mr. Morgan hesitated then hefted his considerable bulk from behind his desk. Thanks to his weight and the rheumatism brought on by his advancing years, he seldom stirred himself if it could be at all avoided. The fact that he did so now was an event that Mr. Finn was too stricken to appreciate.

"Mr. Finn, you are one of the best businessmen I've had come into my office in decades. No, believe me," he added when the other man directed a disdainful look at him. "You came in here in your grubby clothes, fresh from the sheepcote if the smell was to be believed, with the sale from your sheep in one hand and your wife's jewelry in the other. I thought for certain that you'd be bilked of both before the month was out. But you proceeded to make some of the wisest investments I'd ever seen. For a man with no previous background in such things, your business acumen was phenomenal."

Mr. Finn squinted, uncertain how much of the man's gabble was praise and how much insult. But he sensed the admiration the man had for him and forced himself to listen.

"You were blessed, it seemed. And then fortune took a turn and cursed you. Even now, when it seemed things might actually have taken a turn for the better, you lost what you had. But you are gifted beyond the ranks of ordinary men, Mr. Finn. No matter what turn fickle fortune has taken, you will always have my respect." He held out one of his fleshy hands.

Mr. Finn hesitated and then squeezed it between both of his broad mitts. Mr. Morgan was being genuinely sincere and the man's kind words threatened to overwhelm the fragile hold on his pride. "Mr. Morgan, the sentiment's much appreciated. But fancy words won' help me and me family." Recalling the McTeague woman, he frowned. "And there's another problem, summat else I need help with."

Mr. Morgan raised an eyebrow and retreated behind his desk again. He laced his fingers together and rested them on the pine surface. "Mr. Finn, I should have you know that I have to charge for any legal advice I give you."

"Oh, I know that," Finn said hastily. "It's not your advice I be cravin'. Ye see, there's this woman where I'm livin' now..." In a few swift words he outlined his difficulty and then looked pleadingly at the other man.

"And that's where things stand. I don' mind for meself so much. But wee Elizabeth is nae fit for such a man. And she'll be forced to marry him if I come back empty-handed."

"Wouldn't she have had to marry him in any case?"

"Aye," he groused. "But I was hoping there'd be enow to buy that covetous woman off. She's nae so much after me love as she is greedy for money. I've heard tell in the village that she thought I had money salted away somewhere the creditors couldn't lay hands on it. She was hoping if she married me she'd get her grasping hands on it instead." He snorted, contempt coloring his tone. "It weren't true but greed'll make people believe anything."

"Then she doesn't know your fortunes have fallen," Mr. Morgan mused.

"Nae. I don't relish breaking this sad news to me family."

"Then don't," the solicitor said decisively. "Tell her there was a last minute holdup with the ship's goods. That might be enough to buy you time."

"Time to do what? If I try to run with me family, she'll have me hunted down and clapped into jail."

Mr. Morgan tapped his teeth. "What about that son of yours? Couldn't he work and pay off the debt?"

"I owe her nine hundred and fifty pounds. My son would have to work for years to make that kind of money." Mr. Finn slumped into a chair.

"Then I see no way out of yer dilemma. I'm truly-" Mr. Finn shot him a look and Mr. Morgan subsided. "Go with God, Mr. Finn."

__________

[Go with God indeed. Perhaps it might be better if I let God strike me down.] It was his wretched pride that had gotten him into this mess. If he'd only been content, he would be a happy man now. All right, he would never know true happiness again now that his sweet, dear Mary was gone. But he'd had his children, happy and laughing around him, and he could see summat of her in each of their faces. Now he stood to lose even that and it was no one's fault but his own.

Charles Finn walked down the stairs to his waiting carriage. Thanks to that conniving Mrs. McTeague, she had one of her own servants waiting for him down below. Even if he tried running, that man was there to stop him or go running to the authorities at the first sign of flight on his part.

All at once he had the urge to ditch the fellow. So he had to return back home empty-handed. The villagers know soon enough how badly things turned out. That didn't mean he had to have a McTeague servant broadcasting the news of his ill fortune to the entire village. He paused, peering around the solicitor's door and then grinned.

The manservant was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he'd gotten sidetracked by one of the many diversions of Galway. It didn't matter; he was free of the man's vigilant eye and decided to make his own way back. Let the man walk if he cared to do so.

__________

Mr. Finn held the reins loosely in his hand as the horse trotted slowly through the thickening forest. A fog, barely noticeable at first, had crept around him, blotting out the landscape and obscuring the path before him. He hadn't been in any hurry to get back home and be the bearer of bad news. But now he thought he might have been better off staying in the town until the weather changed for the better.

The fog grew ever more dense until he could hardly see the ears of the animal in front of him. Was he even still on the right path? The horse suddenly stopped, its ears twitching on its head. "What is it? Walk on, then." He slapped the reins smartly on its neck. The animal stomped one of its hooves but otherwise made no move.

"What's the matter with ye? Is there summat in the road?" Mr. Finn dismounted from the carriage seat and cautiously made his way to the front, keeping in contact with the side of the carriage at all times. He'd never been in a fog as thick as this one but he'd heard tales of men wandering only a few feet away from their friends and getting lost forever. Vapor this thick and impenetrable could muffle a man's voice, making it sound as if it came from everywhere and nowhere until no one could find him. And he'd come on this fool's journey by himself. If he got lost here, no one would find him.

[They might be better off. God knows I'm nae doing anyone much good now.] The bitter thoughts couldn't help resurfacing even as he continued to feel his way up to the horse's neck. He grabbed hold of the bridle around the creature's muzzle and pulled. The horse laid back its ears but otherwise refused to budge.

"Now what the devil's gotten into ye?" he grumbled. "I haven't enow troubles to hound me but a willful bit of horseflesh takes it into his head to balk and strand me in the middle of the road?" He felt forward warily with one hand so he wouldn't run into whatever had spooked the animal.

The next moment his hand encountered cold metal and he started back in fright. The sensation, so unexpected in what he'd thought to be an empty road, was unnerving to say the least. Mr. Finn waved his arm forward more cautiously and touched the metal again. Now that he could run his hand over it, he could feel that it was a pole, tall and strong, and that there were other similar poles beside it. The horse was blowing and puffing its warm breath over him. He could hear it quite loudly and it reassured him enough to let go and feel his way along the structure he could sense in front of him.

Further exploration confirmed his burgeoning suspicions. He was in front of a wrought iron gate with curved metal poles and a large latch. A metal gate meant a structure behind it and a structure might mean people and hope stirred within him. The people staying here couldn't be so inhospitable as to turn away a needy stranger. Then again if they did he could always sleep in the carriage until the fog burned away in the morning sunlight.

" 'Ello? Is aught on the premises?" he called uncertainly. As if in response to his inquiry, the gates shifted and opened soundlessly before him. He started back again and peered hard around him. He hadn't heard or seen anyone come near and wondered how such massive fences could have been opened without human aid. Then again the fog would have muffled and covered the approach of any footsteps.

Making his way back carefully to the horse, he returned to his seat on the carriage and was gratified to have the animal lurch forward through the opened space. Once they were safely past, he jumped to hear the gates clang shut behind him. Mr. Finn craned his neck backwards but once again could make out no human figures that might have been lurking.

There was a gathering air of strangeness and mystery to this place and Mr. Finn choked down the sudden, irrational fear that he might be walking into a kind of trap. He licked his lips and clenched the reins as the horse trotted with eagerness down the unseen path.

As they moved, he could see lights from a house of some sort lighting up the darkness. The fog gradually cleared until he could see the structure quite clearly and his mouth gaped in wonder.

This was no ordinary house. The lights stretched upwards and sideways, past where his eye could see, and he saw that this was a castle! How could that be? He'd been in Galway for over seven years and had heard tell of no one living in a place this fine and impressive. He'd known the rich folk in the town, either through acquaintance or hearsay, and none were said to live in such grand style.

Terraces adorned the windows and turrets arched high above his head. There were stone gargoyles glaring down at him from every carved nook as if guarding the entrance. Polished granite stone glistened in the fog and torches flared up without human aid as he approached.

The horse turned its head impatiently so that the carriage lurched and he saw that it was headed away from the palace towards a stable almost as large as his house in Galway had been. Dismounting again from the seat, he reached for the shaft only to cringe as the leather straps began to unlace themselves before his eyes.

[This is magic! I need to get away from this place.] But when he reached for the reins again, the horse ignored him, trotting towards the opening stable door. "Nae, come back here, ye stubborn beast. This is no fit place for the likes of us." When he stepped into the stables, he stopped, staring around him in awe.

The inside had arched ceilings, reminding him vaguely of imposing churches he'd seen in the streets of Galway. The horse had its head in a pile of sweet hay, munching away contentedly without a care in the world. The man patted the animal absently as he eyed the mound of plant stuff. "Where did that come from then?" Mr. Finn mumbled. "There's nae other horses here and I can't see anyone keeping a stable this size just for the likes of ye. What is this place then?"

The horse made no answer, only flicked one ear back, before returning to its dinner. Mr. Finn sighed. "Well, I hope whoever's at the house is as obligin' when it comes to me dinner because I'm fair famished."

He trod up to the palace, all alight with the glow of a thousand torches. Once again large gates opened without a sound before him, adorned with carved flowers and real ivy twining over their surfaces. There were still no human beings in evidence. There were no servants bustling about as there had been at the O'Connell's place. There was in fact no sound at all. No, that wasn't quite true. When Mr. Finn strained his ears, he thought he could hear what seemed to be faint whispers. But he could make out nothing like words and they ceased when he stopped still to listen.

Pushing down the feeling that his actions were being watched and commented on by unseen figures, he made his way through the long hallway. " 'Ello? I-is there anybody about? I've lost me way in the fog. I-I'm hoping ye don' mind if I stay, just for the night. I'll be on me way when the morn comes." Silence. There was no answer and no one appearing to respond to his voice. Yet he was sure he could sense a presence or people about the place.

The floors sparkled and glimmered in the light from the torches set high on the walls. Somebody had to have lit those torches and opened the gate. Why wouldn't they show themselves? He shivered when he remembered his great gran's tales of monsters that set up house and kept lights lit so foolish, weary wayfarers would be tempted to stay the night and be devoured while they lay sleeping unawares. But he could recall no tales that had such ogres living in high style as this.

"It's a mystery, that's for certain," he mumbled. He wandered through one large room after another. In one elegant space, three dozen gilt chairs stood in a circle around an enormous table the size of a baker's stove as if expecting a company of men to appear any moment and sit in them. The walls were covered in rich brocade, which would have muffled any voices in it so they couldn't be heard beyond the enormous oak door. It looked as if weighty affairs of state would be discussed in this room. "Or maybe it's just some respected gent's idea of a smoking room," he shrugged. He wouldn't say no to a drop of whisky himself at this point and began poking around to see if he could find a cabinet with a bit of Irish cheer nestled inside it.

Looking over the room, he saw large paintings, showing various different men, women and children in antique dress, adorning the walls. Mr. Finn peered at them, hoping to get a clue as to the nature of his aloof host, for surely these pictures had to be family portraits. The O'Connells had had such, frame after frame filled with people in various ancient and modern clothing, many of them bearing the familiar hazel eyes of his Mary and the prideful sneers he'd come to associate with her conceited kinfolk.

These pictures showed men and women, mostly tall in stature, with proud heads of luxuriant hair spilling past their shoulders. Their eyes tended towards the dark, with large foreheads and intelligent looks beaming from their faces. The men on the whole were stalwart and strong, the women beautiful with the winsome charm and freshness of youth or handsome in the way one expected of older ladies.

He shifted from one picture to the next and then squinted. The eyes of the portraits appeared to gleam in the light and he could have sworn that they were following him as he moved. He trod back and forth across the thick carpet. No, there was no doubt. The eyes were definitely watching him and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

Suddenly he couldn't stay in this room one minute longer. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open, practically tripping over his feet to get out of this room. He was half of a mind to saddle up the horse again and hightail it out of this place. He didn't care if he got lost in the fog again; this palace was haunted by spirits or a monster prowled its halls.

He was halfway down the hall before he realized he'd gotten turned around in his inspection of the place. The hallway looked the same as the one he'd entered but he could see no sign of the rooms he'd poked his head into. He'd left those doors open and now they were all closed, giving no clue as to where he'd entered. Making a decision, he turned right, certain that he'd turned left before entering the room with the knowing eyes.

Hours or maybe only minutes seemed to pass as he tried finding his way out. But the place seemed to stretch on forever, giving no sign as to where he'd entered. Mr. Charles Finn stopped at last. It was no use. He was trapped in this place, with no clear idea of how to get out, and whatever was lurking here was no doubt waiting behind a corner, amusing itself at his panic.

That thought steeled his nerve and he stood straighter. If anything wanted to get him, they'd find themselves dealing with a Finn. No one got the better of him without a battle either of fists or wits. His recent set-to with Mrs. McTeague had brought back his courage and he looked about for a weapon. There were suits of armor standing about holding swords and long pointy spears. But attempts to wrest these away met with resistance and he couldn't budge them an inch.

"Fine. If it's fisticuffs ye be wantin', yer goin' ta get it." He strode forward as quietly as he could, fists clenched and his eyes alert, peering into every shadow left by the lights.

The time stretched onwards with no sign of trouble or threat and he began to feel rather foolish. Maybe those eyes hadn't been staring at him. It could have been just a trick of the light coupled with the talent of a truly gifted painter.

The rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he had other pressing needs that needed attention. "Where do ye find the kitchen in this oversized barn?" he muttered. He paused, sniffing. Experience told him if you wanted food, it was best to follow your nose. A faint odor of roasted flesh caught his nostrils and he turned his head like a bird dog's as he tried to lock on to the elusive odor.

After an age of sniffing, during which the grumbling of his belly had progressed to a full-grown ache, he found himself in a mammoth dining room. A table groaning with food was in the center of it and he rushed forward, his mouth watering at all the lovely delectables laid forth for him.

As he approached, the nearest chair was pulled out by invisible hands and he faltered, remembering his earlier fear of this place. Nothing more happened and the chair remained pulled out, as if patiently awaiting his approach. He gingerly sat in it and it shoved its way back to the table.

He sat there for several long moments, wondering if he would be joined by other people. There was quite a bit of food on the table, more than one mortal man possibly could eat and he thought it might be best to wait for his host. But, as time went by and no one came, hunger got the better of him. He picked up a roasted leg of venison from his table and quickly devoured it, his pangs making him practically gobble it in his haste.

A linen napkin fluttered itself through the air and dropped near his hand. He picked it up uncertainly; his many years as a countryman had made him reluctant to adopt some of the stranger niceties of grand society and napkins were a bit of a mystery to him. Why anybody would waste good cloth on a piece of fabric smaller than your head when your sleeve would do the job perfectly well was a mystery to him. But he wiped his hand awkwardly on it nonetheless.

He tucked into light, floury, fluffy loaves of bread, the yeasty substances seeming to dissolve on his tongue almost before he had a chance to chew them properly. These loaves were nothing like the tough, almost meaty, breads he was used to and he wondered how anything as ordinary as wheat could have been used to make them. But they served nicely to mop up the gravy from the venison, pork and beef chops he consumed.

Bowls of grapes, cherries, peaches and other exotic fruits he didn't recognize arranged themselves around his plate. These were easier for him to deal with since they didn't require he use the knives and forks he'd never learned to utilize and he plucked eagerly at the choice little morsels and popped them into his mouth. Some of these fruits he was halfway certain were growing out of season and he wondered how it was possible for them to be brought so freshly to the table. Then he shrugged and pushed the question from his mind.

Then a dish covered with a brownish slab was placed before him. He nudged the plate with one timid finger. He'd never seen a dish like this and he didn't know which of the bewildering array of utensils before him was supposed to be used to eat it. A bowled, long-handled silver spoon was lifted helpfully in the air before him and he grasped it with his thick, calloused fingers. "Thank ye. I hope I can do justice to this creation-whatever it is." He dug awkwardly into the brown object and raised a small bit of it to his tongue.

His eyes widened as the sweetness of the thing filled his mouth and the smell of it floated through to his nostrils. He'd never tasted anything like it and the shock was almost enough to overwhelm him. He chewed automatically and then greedily took another bite. The brown thing, thick, moist and chewy, covered with nuts, cherries and topped with heavy, clotted cream whipped up to a foam, was the most heavenly concoction he'd ever tasted. How was mortal man capable of bringing something so divine to the table and he not know about it?

Greedily he ate until the whole thing was gone and licked up every crumb that was left behind. He belched and looked at his empty plate with regret. Surely this was how the truly rich lived and he doubted he would ever again know joy from such a simple thing as eating again now that he'd tasted a miniature slice of paradise.

Glittering bottles filled with exotic liquors in iridescent, jeweled colors of yellow, blue, red and purple floated through the air, uncorking themselves and pouring the contents into his goblet. The wine glasses themselves were airy light things of cut crystal that winked and sparkled in the flickering torchlight like diamond earrings. They seemed so delicately wrought as to be no sturdier than soap bubbles and he handled them with ginger care, almost afraid to drink from them for fear he'd accidentally break them.

The place was enchanted; there could be no doubt about that. But the ample portions of food erased his worry and the abundant portions of wine made him expansive and mellow. He tilted back in his chair, raising glass after glass of the unfamiliar drinks to his lips and praised his unseen host. "Whoever ye may be, I have to admit ye set a fine table. My compliments to yer cook." He let out a mighty belch. "And to the gentleman that stocks yer cellar."

He ate until he could stuff himself no more and began nodding off in his chair, a half-chewed greasy bone of mutton clutched in one drooping hand. The chair pulled out from the table and startled him into something approaching wakefulness. "Oh, whut? What time is it?" He looked around and then realized he hadn't seen anything like a clock. The windows showed the sky still wreathed by fog; except for the lit torches indicating it was night he had no idea how late it was.

He stretched yawning and then saw one of the many doors leading into the room open silently. It seemed to beckon him onwards and he walked towards it without hesitation. If his host had wanted to hurt him he would have done it by now. So far he'd been treated well with nothing but kindness and generosity. It was silly to cherish any thoughts of harm now.

__________

The torches flickered and went out as he approached, subtly guiding him on his way. If he hesitated and tried to turn down the wrong corridor, all the lights in it were extinguished immediately so he couldn't see his hand before his face. Thus he found himself walking uncertainly up a long flight of steps.

Finally he found himself before an ornate door with the stern face of a young man staring out at him from sightless eyes. "Well, yer a welcomin' figure, to be sure," he grunted. "Hope there's nae statues inside lookin' like you." The face said nothing; the door only opened quietly before him.

Inside he saw a long room with a cozy bed covered with a satin bedspread. There was a bath already prepared for him near a blazing fire at the far end of the room, steam curling from the hot water inside the porcelain tub. Now that his hunger had been appeased, Mr. Charles Finn wanted nothing more than to fling himself into the waiting bed. But the thought of sleeping in his travel-encrusted clothes didn't appeal.

He peeled off his shirt, vest and trousers and laid them self-consciously on a nearby chair. All at once, he was all too aware of his lowly status compared with the grandeur of this place. His invisible host had been compassionate to the point of true selflessness. But surely a great lord such as he might be didn't show such generosity to a man of such humble standing like himself without wanting something in return. But since the man refused to show himself, how could Mr. Finn know what he wanted? And what could a lowly person such as himself offer such a man in any case?

Once again he put the question aside. The bath was beckoning to him and he lowered himself into it by guarded inches as the hot water lapped over his body. Once completely immersed, he settled himself with a drawn-out sigh. "Now this is living." Hot water had been a luxury he'd taken for granted in Galway and missed sorely once he'd been back in the country and he basked in the delightful feel of it. A rounded piece of soap drifted through the air to him and he reached up to seize it.

He grasped the slippery, rounded cake and proceeded to scrub himself all over. The grime of the road fell away from him, turning the water a greasy gray until he felt like a new man. This was a truly delightful way to end his day and he sighed with regret when he saw his fingers and toes start to crinkle.

He lifted himself out of the bath and rubbed himself off with the towel draped on the chair beside the tub. He wasn't eager to get back into his dirty things but he was shy about sleeping naked. However, his clothes had disappeared. Instead a long nightshirt of fine white satin lay draped across the bed and it was obvious it was meant for him.

He handled the garment delicately. Even in his days in Galway, he'd never worn anything so fine. It was as light as a cloud to the touch and barely there under his hands. He struggled into it and ran his hands down his front after he'd donned it. "If I didn' say it before, I want to thank ye for everything ye've done. It's above and beyond what any man could have a hope of expectin'."

He didn't wait for an answer. He was beginning to be used to the mute service of this palace. If only it were his! The stray thought, treacherous and yet inviting, intruded itself. The concealed owner didn't seem to mind his use of the place and he could just see himself and his family making it their own. He settled beneath the bed sheets, sighing contentedly as they drew themselves over him without his aid.

It was only a foolish dream to imagine himself the owner but a very pleasant one nonetheless. Nothing had changed. In the morning, he'd leave this place and be as poor as when he'd entered it. But the care he'd been shown and the pull of imminent sleep served to lull his concerns and he drifted off into dreamless slumber.

"You know, sleep and confidence are almost the same thing; they both come together." - Ugo Betti (1892 - 1953), Struggle Till Dawn (1949)


TBC