Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [110]
“Would you like some more tea, Mrs Rappaport?” asked the Major, who felt sorry for her. But she merely shook her head. The corners of her mouth drew down as if she were about to cry.
As interest in Miss Staveley subsided people remembered the cat which had been the cause of the commotion. It was still lying there against the foot of the wall. Its mouth was partly open; through its wickedly sharp teeth a little blood was leaking on to the parquet floor. The elder Murphy was told to dispose of it but he refused, saying he didn’t dare touch it. Edward grimaced with annoyance but did not waste time arguing the point. There was a moment of tension as he turned it over with his shoe, as if everyone expected it suddenly to revive and start tearing him to pieces. But the animal was quite plainly dead.
“Mr Evans, I wonder, would you mind?” The tutor looked up from the cards he was studying. He hesitated for a moment, his face expressionless, then he got to his feet without a word, picked the cat up by its dark-ringed orange tail and left the room.
“The strength of some of those fellas is positively fr-frightful...” Mr Norton said to the Major, who was not sure whether he was referring to the tutor or to the cat.
When Evans returned Edward said that, rather than end on such an unfortunate note, everyone should sit down and play another hand or two, if they felt like it, and try to forget this unpleasant little episode. And presently, though in a rather subdued fashion, the players began to chatter about other things. The odour of fear and violence gradually dissipated.
When he had thrown a few more pieces of turf and wood on to the fire Edward sat down and said cheerfully: “Now whose turn was it to play and what were we talking about?”
“Your turn. Mrs Rice had just asked you about your visit to Ripon when you were in Dublin yesterday.”
“Ah yes,” said Edward and once more a strained expression appeared on his face. But before he could say a word Sarah exclaimed: “Oh, we had a lovely time, Mrs Rice, and Ripon is getting along wonderfully. Did you know that he married a friend of mine, Máire Noonan, from Kilnalough? Such a nice girl...” and she went on to talk about Máire, though Mrs Rice, who believed she was missing one of her cards (how many did everyone else have?) was not really listening. As for the Major, he lowered his jealous eyes to the fan of cards in his hand and said no more. He thought: “That evening with me in London must have meant nothing to her after all.”
Certain of the guests, including Dr Ryan, his grandson and Sarah, had been invited to stay for supper. Padraig had begun the afternoon affecting a cautious and supercilious manner. He had relaxed, however, on hearing that the twins had been locked up and soon became expansive, even voluble. Like the Major he appeared to be partial to older ladies. The Major, who was looking for the doctor (his cold was at its zenith and he was afraid he had pneumonia), overheard the lad describing to Miss Bagley in minute detail the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian. Miss Bagley murmured “Dear me!” at intervals, genuinely horrified.
The doctor had vanished,