Whatever Happenened to Molly Bloom? (34 page)

‘He proposed marriage in January, did he?’

‘No, that’s when he asked me to run away with him.’

‘Did he promise marriage?’ Roland Slater insisted.

‘He told me I was his angel and my limp didn’t matter,’ Gerty blurted out, twirling the Rosary beads like a little black whip. ‘He said he loved me and took me in his arms and kissed me and no one had ever done that properly before.’

‘Dear God!’ said Slater under his breath, and then, ‘Control yourself, please, Miss MacDowell.’

‘I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life crying in front of a mirror. When Poldy said he would take me away with him that was enough for me.’

‘But did he mention marriage?’

‘Who cares about marriage?’ Gerty snapped.

And there it was, the transformation, passion driven and quite remarkable: Gerty MacDowell drew herself up, tossed the beads on to the ledge, stuck out her chest and said, ‘As soon as we get to England we’ll call ourselves man and wife, and if that’s a sin before God, I don’t care.’

Cheers from the gallery confirmed Dr Slater’s opinion of the under class. It crossed his mind that reticence and modesty were seeping away from the world as he knew it and that in ten or twenty years his children’s children, the little minim included, would be on their feet and cheering too.

Surrendering to the young woman’s inexplicable appeal, he gave up trying to prove that Bloom did in his wife to marry a crippled girl-child, like a Hans Andersen fairytale rewritten by that filthy Norwegian.

‘Now,’ he said sternly, ‘you’ve heard from previous witnesses that Mr Bloom was not home with his wife late on Wednesday evening, that he was in Upper Tyrone Street arguing with Mr Boylan. Where at this time were you, Miss MacDowell?’

‘Packing my suitcase.’

‘Are you saying it was your plan – Mr Bloom’s plan – to leave Dublin that very night?’

‘In the morning by the early boat.’

‘Where did your rendezvous with Bloom take place?’

‘He met me outside our house in Tritonville Road.’

‘Your parents were asleep, I assume.’

‘I said goodbye to my mother.’

‘Didn’t she try to stop you?’

‘No.’

‘And your father?’

‘Drunk,’ said Gerty scathingly, ‘and snoring.’

‘Did Mr Bloom have a bag or a suitcase?’

‘A small suitcase.’

‘What happened to that suitcase?’ Slater asked.

‘It’s hid under my bed,’ Gerty answered.

‘We may take it that Mr Bloom’s plan to leave Dublin did not work out as intended. You must tell the court exactly what you did after you met Mr Bloom at … what hour of the night?’

‘Half past one.’

‘Six hours, on estimate, before the sailing. Where did you go and what did you do in that period of time?’

‘Poldy said it wasn’t safe to go to a hotel. He was frightened somebody would catch up with us. He said he might be able to find a room somewhere in a house where nobody would think to look, but that fell through. He said we would wait by the dockers’ coffee stall on the Quay until we could board the boat.

‘That isn’t what happened, is it?’

‘No. At the last minute he said he had to go back to Eccles Street,’ Gerty said. ‘He wanted me to wait for him on the Quay but I was frightened so he took me with him.’

‘Did Mr Bloom tell you why he felt impelled to return to Eccles Street?’ Slater said.

‘To make sure Mrs Bloom was safe.’

‘Safe?’ said Roland Slater, frowning. ‘Safe from what?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘What time did you reach Eccles Street?’

‘I’m not sure. It was a long walk. We had to stop now and then because my foot … because I was tired. I think it would be about three o’clock or a bit after.’

‘Why didn’t you – Mr Bloom, I mean – hire a cab?’

‘Poldy didn’t want to leave a trail in case we were followed.’

‘Followed? By whom?’

‘I don’t know.’

If Boylan’s wits had been dulled by alcohol, Miss MacDowell’s had been sharpened by devotion. She gave no appearance now of cracking.

‘When you arrived at Number 7 Eccles Street did Mr Bloom unlock the door with his key?’ Slater asked.

‘No, the door wasn’t locked.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Poldy was surprised too, frightened, I think.’ Gerty went on unprompted, ‘There was a light on in the hallway. We went upstairs to an empty room. He put down the luggage and told me not to come downstairs until he called for me. I sat on the floor. I was tired and I needed to rest.’

‘How long were you alone there?’ Slater asked.

‘About three or four minutes.’

‘Did you hear anything while you waited, any unusual noises?’

‘I heard a cry. More of a shout.’

‘What sort of a shout?’

‘Just a shout, no words.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I got up from the floor. I was frightened.’

‘What happened then?’

‘A minute or two after, Poldy came upstairs. He was shaking like a leaf. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, “Something terrible has happened.”’

‘Did he say what it was?’

‘No. He sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. When I sat down beside him he put his arms about me. He was crying. Eventually he got up again and told me we wouldn’t be going to Liverpool that morning.’

‘Did you see upon Mr Bloom any sign of blood?’

‘No, no sign of blood,’ Gerty said. ‘He told me to stay where I was then he went downstairs again.’

‘How long was Mr Bloom gone this time?’

‘Ten minutes, maybe.’

‘Did you hear any further sounds from downstairs?’

‘No, none.’

‘When Mr Bloom returned …’

‘Wait,’ said Gerty. ‘I haven’t told you everything.’

‘What,’ said Slater, ‘haven’t you told us, Miss MacDowell?’

‘I went to the middle of the stairs and looked down into the hall to see if I could find Poldy and I saw someone come out of the room at the far back of the house.’

‘Mr Bloom, you mean?’

‘No, Poldy was in the bedroom with the door closed.’

‘This man in the hallway – I assume it was a man – did he see you, Miss MacDowell?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘What did he do, this man?’

‘He stopped outside the bedroom door for a second then went very quiet down the hall to the front door. He bent down and put a hand over the metal thing at the bottom of the door and reached up and opened the door. Then he went outside and closed the door.’

‘There was a light in the hall, you say?’

‘The gas was low but it was light enough to see by,’ Gerty said. ‘I didn’t want Poldy to think I was prying. I was scared the other man might come back so I went upstairs to the empty room again. When Poldy came for me he was crying but when I told him I’d seen a man in the hall he stopped crying. He went to the window and looked out then he took our suitcases down to the hall.’

‘Was the bedroom door open at this stage?’

‘Closed,’ Gerty said. ‘It was closed.’

‘Did Mr Bloom say anything about his wife?’

‘When I asked him what she’d said he told me she was sleeping. I asked him why he hadn’t wakened her and he said she was sleeping too sound to waken.’

The silence in the courtroom was complete. Bloom, bent double, rested his brow on the table, eyes closed. Mr Tolland placed a hand on Bloom’s back and left it there. In the gallery Milly sat up, big-eyed, her thumb crushed into her bottom lip.

The coroner let out his breath and leaned towards the witness. ‘What did Bloom do then?’

‘He hugged me and told me he loved me but Liverpool would have to wait. He said he had things must be done and I should go home and tell no one where I’d been. He asked me to carry the cases back to my house and keep them ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

‘I don’t know. To leave, I suppose, when everything had been taken care of,’ Gerty said.

‘Why didn’t you take a cab?’

‘Poldy said it wasn’t safe to take a cab.’

‘What did he mean by that?’

‘He was worried for me because of the man. He thought the man might be waiting at the cab rank. He stood with me in the hall for a while then opened the street door and looked out. He told me how to find my way home by the side streets ’cause I didn’t know that part of town. He said he would wait in Eccles Street.’

‘Wait for what?’

‘Until the coast was clear.’

‘What do you think he meant by that, Miss MacDowell?’

‘Wait long enough to give me a chance to get home.’

‘He was concerned for your safety, in other words?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Gerty said.

‘It must have been difficult for you to walk so far carrying two suitcases. How long did it take you to reach Tritonville Road?’

‘I did have to stop a lot. It must have been nearer six than five.’

‘By which hour there would be people on the street?’

‘Quite a few, and the trams were running.’

‘Yet no one saw you, no one remarked on a young woman carrying two suitcases at that hour of the morning?’

‘At that time of the morning nobody bothers with anyone else.’

‘When you got home, were your parents awake?’

‘No. I hid the cases under my bed and went to bed for I was wore out. Before I wakened up the newspapers.… ’ Gerty shrugged.

‘Quite! Did you tell anyone what had occurred?’

Gerty shot one swift glance at the gallery then, facing the coroner again, stated firmly, ‘I did not.’

‘You kept your head down, as it were,’ Slater said, ‘and didn’t come forward to aid the investigation into Mrs Bloom’s death. Why, Miss MacDowell, did you keep silent?’

‘Poldy told me to. I think he was feared the man would find me,’ Gerty said. ‘I think he was feared of what the man might do to me if he knew I’d seen him in the house in Eccles Street.’

‘The man you saw in the house, did you recognise him?’

‘No,’ said Gerty, ‘but I know now who he is.’

Below at the defence table Bloom lifted his head and made to rise but Neville Sullivan held him down.

‘Him,’ Gerty cried, pointing. ‘It was him.’

‘Mr Boylan, do you mean?’ Roland Slater said.

‘Yes. Him,’ said Gerty. ‘I saw him plain as day.’

For years afterwards Jack Delaney threatened to write an account of the affair and publish it in a book but, being Jack, he never quite got around to it. It was left to others to delve into the mystery of what made Bloom tick, why Molly Bloom had traded affection for sex with a scoundrel and why, most mysterious of all, Hugh ‘Blazes’ Boylan responded to young Miss MacDowell’s accusation by reaching under the witness bench, fishing out his hat, sticking it on his head and leaping to his feet.

‘Mr Boylan,’ Slater said, ‘you will be recalled in due course to answer the witness’s charges. Meanwhile you must not interrupt.’

Blazes ignored the admonition. He crossed his hands on his chest and, stiff-necked, tipped his head back, the hat clinging precariously to his hair. It seemed at first as if he was about to burst into song and the court officers, led by Mr Rice, advanced upon him to put him in his place. Roland Slater waved them away.

‘She wouldn’t listen to me, not a word I said,’ Blazes began. ‘She wouldn’t bend an inch and laughed when I said I loved her.’

‘Mr Boylan, may I remind you that even although you have left the box you have not been dismissed and are, therefore, still under oath.’

‘Love, she said, you don’t know the meaning of the word. If you loved me you’d love what’s in me too. God knows, I told her I had a horse at Foxrock loved me more than she did. That wiped the smile off her face. Did I think she was a horse I could buy and break? she said. Well, she said she would not be broken, not by me. She would die before she’d let some whore’s lickspittle tear out the only thing she had worth keeping.’

‘Mr Boylan …’ Slater said, and then gave up.

‘Your thing, she told me put it there but it’s mine and mine to keep. Good luck to you then, Molly, I told her for you’ll not have me to sponge off, no, nor him either. He’s worth a thousand of you, she said. Then I told her, he’s not coming back. She started laughing again. When I tried to shake some sense into her she told me not to be a fool, Poldy always came back. I told her again what was what with her beau ideal, and she spat in me face. Jesus, Joseph and the Mother o’ God, what right had she to spit in
my
face. I’d given her the kid and surely I was entitled to have it taken away.’

‘What,’ Slater prompted softly, ‘did she say to that?’

Blazes took his hands from his chest and clasped the nape of his neck like a prisoner surrendering to the militia. His features sagged, jowls swelling against his collar. He kneaded his neck with both hands and rolled his head from side to side. ‘She’d have none of it. Poldy, he was her god and could do no wrong. Your Poldy’s running away with a girl, I told her and, sitting up, she said what girl’s this? I said, a girl called MacDowell who’ll give him what you never could. And she said, you’re a damned liar, Blazes. And I said, it’s the truth. He told me so himself outside Cohen’s not much more than an hour ago. You’re stuck with me, Molly, but I’m damned if I’ll be stuck with you when your belly’s stretched like a pig’s bladder and your tits are hanging to your waist.’

Mr Devereux’s pen hovered over the paper. He darted a glance at the coroner but Slater was too intent on observing a star witness dying on his feet to notice.

The coroner said, ‘And then?’

‘She hit me,’ Blazes said. ‘The bitch hit me. She’d have clawed my eyes out if I hadn’t … hadn’t …’

‘Hadn’t what, Mr Boylan?’

‘He was never a man to be trusted,’ Blazes said.

In the gallery, without a by-your-leave, Michael Paterson clambered over Milly’s knees and headed for the stairs.

‘What did you do?’ Slater urged.

‘Lost my temper and pished it away, piddled it all away with … Jesus Christ … a teapot. I ask you, a fucking painted … teapot.’

In a surge of rage, Blazes tore off his hat, threw it to the floor and stamped on it. Then, gaping, he sank to his knees and, just as Kinsella reached out to support him, shouted, ‘Maudie, Maudie, tell them it wasn’t me,’ and, with a final boozy gasp, fell dead at the G-man’s feet.

THIRTY