The Sin Eater(47)

‘What man?’

‘Bullfinch. Butcher Bullfinch, some of them call him,’ said Romilly, and the name came out on a gasp. ‘Only I didn’t know that until afterwards. They all said – Cerise and old Floss – both said he’d be all right.’

‘Bullfinch did this to you? Injured you?’

‘Yes.’ She moved restlessly in the bed again and Declan and Colm looked helplessly at each other. Neither had the least idea what to do

Declan said, ‘Romilly, is there help we can get?’

‘The woman downstairs is doing that,’ said Romilly. ‘She’s gone to find Bullfinch.’

‘Bullfinch? Rom, we can’t let him near you again!’

‘She said he should put right what he did.’

‘But you need a real doctor—’

‘Declan, I can’t afford a real doctor!’ said Romilly. ‘This isn’t Kilglenn. Doctors here charge for what they do. And I haven’t a brass farthing in the world.’

‘I’ll get a doctor,’ said Colm, standing up. ‘We’ll find the money. Tell me where—’ He broke off as a door banged below, and footsteps came up the stairs.

‘’Oo are you?’ demanded a hard-faced female wearing a man’s cap.

‘Romilly’s cousins from Ireland,’ said Colm. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m ’er landlady, and if you’re her cousins, why din’t you come sooner like she wanted?’

‘We came as soon as we knew,’ said Declan. ‘Did you bring help?’

‘Bullfinch won’t come, the perishing old sinner. Says he can’t do nothing and it ain’t his fault. Frightened I’ll shop him to the rozzers, more like.’ She saw their look of bewilderment and said, ‘Tell the p’lice what he done. Don’t you have p’lice where you come from?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I don’t know what they do in your country, but they’re ’ard as a brick wall when it comes to abortion here,’ said the woman. ‘And we don’t want no trouble.’ Then, in a sharper voice, ‘Rom, you’re bleeding again, aincha?’

‘I think so . . .’

‘Don’t stand about like a couple o’ useless pricks,’ said the woman, turning to the two boys. ‘One of you get downstairs and find cloths and towels. We’ll see if we can cheat old man death by ourselves.’


In the nightmare hours that followed, Declan and Colm lost all sense of time. It was only when Romilly’s landlady lit candles and set them around the room that they realized night had fallen.

At first they thought Romilly was going to bleed to death, and the woman clearly thought so as well. She ordered Colm to lift the end of the narrow bed and she and Declan slid house bricks under it, so that Romilly’s head was lower than her body. Beyond embarrassment, they helped to wad thick towels between Romilly’s legs in an attempt to staunch the flow.

The thick greasiness of the burning tallow candles mingled sickeningly with the stench of blood and sweat, and Romilly was moaning with pain, hunching over in the bed, clutching her lower stomach. Declan said in a low voice, ‘If she was still bleeding, wouldn’t she have lost all the blood by now?’

‘She ain’t bleeding,’ said the woman, watching the huddled figure on the bed. ‘Not to speak of, anyways. I reckon it’s a poison that got in when that butcher skewered her with his filthy needles.’ She glanced at him. ‘You ever cut your finger and saw it turn bad and fill up with pus? So you have to jab it open to drain away the poison?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what’s wrong with her now. I seen it before with girls who had this done. But the poison’s inside, so we can’t do nothing to drain it away.’

‘Could a doctor?’

‘Dunno. But even if he saved her, she’d be off to prison straight after.’

Colm said, ‘I’d rather she was alive in prison than dead in this room.’

Shortly before midnight Romilly seemed to sink into a kind of stupor; her skin was hot and dry, and weals broke out in patches. She seemed unaware of where she was and when Colm took her hand and told her she would soon be well, she stared at him with no recognition.

Speaking very quietly, Declan said, ‘Colm – should we get a priest to her?’

They stared at one another, the tenets of their upbringing strongly with them. You did not, if it could be avoided, allow someone to die without confessing and receiving absolution.

‘Yes,’ said Colm. ‘Yes, we should.’

‘Do you know where we can get a priest?’ said Declan, turning to the woman.

‘I never have no truck with Romans,’ said the landlady, closing her mouth like a rat trap. Declan and Colm looked at one another. Declan could hear Colm’s thought as clearly as if they had been spoken. What you did on the cliffs of Moher in a lashing storm, you can do again here.

‘No,’ said Declan in a low, furious voice. ‘She deserves the proper ritual.’

‘Then I’ll go and find a priest,’ said Colm. ‘There must be a church around somewhere.’

‘You ain’t got time for that,’ said the landlady. ‘She ain’t got long.’