Dreams Can Come True

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Dreams Can Come True Page 30

by Vivienne Dockerty


  “I’m sorry,” apologised Alice. “I haven’t introduced you to Mr. Arlington. He’s my husband, by the way. Take her jacket, will yer dear, she’ll be roasting hot in here. Michael, do you want to come and help me with the tea things? No, no Miss Tibbs, Michael can help me. You sit with Mr. Arlington by the fire and have a chat together. There’s not very much to carry, we won’t be very long.”

  As soon as Alice got into the kitchen, she shut the door and gripped her grandson by the arm.

  “She’s perfect, Michael, just perfect. Good child-bearing hips, of pleasant appearance, trained in nursing, she can look after me when I’m old. An asset to the family, Michael, just what you’re looking for. If you can get her to marry yer before that mother of yours comes back to Neston, there’s no doubt about it; everything will be yours.”

  “But, Grandmama, do you think that this plan of yours will work? I don’t want to get saddled with just anybody if there’s a chance the plan won’t work.”

  “We’ve been over all this, Michael, but I’ll tell yer again. You’ve still got three years left of your commission, so you need someone there in Selwyn Lodge to keep the place warm. Once you have a wife, you can go to a solicitor and tell them that you’re being denied access to the family home. You can say that Hannah isn’t even related to the owner, Maggie Haines, but you’re her legal son. If worst comes to worst they’ll get a policeman to eject them, then you can take up the strings again and claim what’s rightfully yours.”

  “And how will I run the businesses from Chester?”

  “Mr. Arlington will go back to help yer. He’s getting under my feet here and he needs something to do.”

  Chapter 21

  The front door of the hotel slammed shut from the force of the ferocious wind after Frank took the letters from the postman.

  “One fer you, Maggie,” he cried, as he walked down the hallway to the dining room. “The rest are bills, Bridget. One from the butcher and one from Fred Ellery. He’ll be needing to come back again to fix the roofing. One of the slates has come off again.”

  He sat himself down beside Maggie, who had just finished her breakfast of oatmeal and honey.

  “Are yer not going to open your letter then?”

  “Oh, it’s only from Hannah. I can tell by her writing. It’ll be something and nothing. I’ll read it later when I’ve helped Bridget finish in here. Then I need to go over to see Mr. Ellery, see how he’s coming along with the roof at the cottage. He won’t be down at Killala, will he, seeing as it’s blowing a gale?”

  “Not if he’s sensible he won’t be, Maggie. I wouldn’t like to be on the headland in this weather, it could blow a fellow right into the sea. In fact I’m surprised yer even asked him to go ahead with everything. With winter coming, he’ll find it hard enough to find a day that won’t be blowing or lashing it down with rain. I’d have left it until next April, after Easter or early spring.”

  “Yer know I want to be in the cottage as soon as the baby comes, Frank. It isn’t fair to you and Bridget. You’ve a living to make from your lodgers and they’ll not be happy with a crying baby keeping them awake at night. Besides, I lived down in Killala fer sixteen years and the weather didn’t harm me then. And that was in a tiny turf cabin, not a strongly-built cottage like that one is.”

  “It was a bit of luck Frank finding out who was selling fer Mr. Dockerty, wasn’t it?” Bridget said as she brought them in a fresh pot of tea.

  “Yeah, and I only got that from Fred when he was bringing around the slates. I didn’t know that the solicitor on Tebling Street sold property for other people. Still now we know, don’t we? Did yer ever meet Mr. Dockerty, Maggie, when yer worked at the farm?”

  Maggie coloured slightly and played with the teacup in front of her.

  “Only briefly,” she said, keeping her head down so she couldn’t meet Frank’s eyes. “I knew his mother better, Mrs. Dockerty. She was very good to me.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that someone has bought his cottage. Does anyone know where he’s gone to? Did the solicitor say?”

  “No, he just took the money order and got me to a sign a few forms. I suppose it wasn’t necessary to tell me where the owner lived. Bridget, leave those dishes; I’m still capable of clearing a table and washing up, yer know.”

  Maggie heaved her bulk from the table, glad of the excuse to get away from Frank and his scrutiny. If the couple ever knew of her deceitfulness and falsehoods, they’d be chasing her down to Killala, blowing gales or not!

  The two women worked companionably beside each other in the kitchen, Maggie washing the dishes in the stone sink by the window and Bridget drying them with a cloth.

  “Are yer sure you want to go out in this, Maggie? From the way those trees over there are bending, you could be flying through the air!”

  Maggie laughed at the picture her words had conjured.

  “I don’t think so, Bridget, it would take two strong men to lift me at the moment. Besides, I need to know if Mr. Ellery has managed to find some matching stone fer the two new rooms he’s building me.”

  “I’m sure he will have or he’d let yer know. Leave him to it, Maggie, that’s what you’re paying him to do.”

  “I suppose yer right. I’ll stay in then. I’ll read the letter from Hannah then I’ll settle down to some sewing. I do miss my treadle, yer know, Bridget, sewing by hand is awful slow.”

  “Why don’t yer go into the sitting room, Maggie? I’ve lit a fire in there and you can use the table if yer need to. Then in an hour or so I’ll bring yer in a cup of tea.”

  Maggie read Hannah’s words in disbelief. Michael had come back from the Army? How had that occurred. What was he doing back in Neston? Why hadn’t Hannah written the reason for his return? Well, this must have put the cat amongst the pigeons. His stepsister married to the pot man from the village and living with their son in Selwyn Lodge!

  Oh, why hadn’t she written a reply to Michael’s letter? His return would cause a magnitude of problems and from the sound of Hannah’s letter, it seemed it already had.

  Maggie chewed on her lip, thinking back to the day when Michael had heard of his father’s infidelity. He had taken it very badly. It was one of the reasons he had insisted on taking a commission up. That and the fact that he had found out Hannah was illegitimate. One of Michael’s bad points was his failure to forgive.

  She sat for a moment reminiscing with her hands resting on her distended stomach. This baby seemed much larger than when she was carrying her son. It kicked a lot and hurt her ribs, pressed on her bladder so that she’d wee herself. Had Michael been this much trouble? Had he turned somersaults in the womb and given his mother a fright? Sadly, she couldn’t remember. It had been twenty three years ago.

  Bridget came in later to see Maggie staring ahead at a painting on the wall.

  “I’ve always liked that painting, Maggie. Frank’s mother did it, yer know? Couldn’t read or write, but a dab hand at the artistry.”

  “Sorry, Bridget, me mind was wandering. Yes, it’s a very pretty painting, isn’t it? Looks like she’s sat on the bridge over the River Brosna while she did it, ‘cos there’s the castle up on the hill.”

  “I’ve brought yer some coffee, Maggie. Just to cheer yer up as we’re stuck in the house today. Did yer have good news in your letter from Hannah? Is she well? You said she was expecting near the same time as you.”

  “Bridget, did I ever tell yer I had a son who was in the Army? No?” Her friend shook her head.

  “Well, I have this son who is twenty three. I bought him an officer commission two years ago. He thought it would be exciting going off with his friends to see a bit of the world. I think he got caught up with the thrill of it all, then found he’d made a big mistake. He wrote to me about seven or eight months ago, asking me to buy him out. Unfortunately, I was so tied up with other things that I forgot to reply to him. Now Hannah has written to tell me that he’s come back home from India. I was just
thinking that it will put the cat amongst the pigeons, ‘cos Hannah and him don’t get on.”

  “So what is Hannah saying? Does she want yer to go back to England? She must know that you’ll not be in any fit state to do so.”

  “That’s the problem, really, she’s not telling me very much, other than she and Eddie have found another place to live and will I do the necessary legalities from here, so Michael can take over the running of the firm? But I don’t want Michael to take over running Sheldon Property. I have a perfectly good man in Eddie. He made sure the houses were completed when he said they would be; he made sure the snagging lists were kept to the minimum; he oversaw the ganger’s work and drew their weekly wages. I couldn’t fault him as my manager, but Michael’s got a lot to learn. He must have been causing a lot of trouble already ‘cos Hannah says Eddie has found a place with its own quarry and quite a bit of land, so he’s going to set up a building yard. Though she does say he’ll carry on working fer Sheldon until after she’s had the baby. So where is Michael living? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Bridget poured their coffee from the silver pot, something else inherited from Frank’s dead mother. She passed Maggie a dainty china cup, then sat down beside her, trying her best to think of a way to reassure her worried friend.

  Maggie suddenly slapped a hand to her forehead, making Bridget jump.

  “That’s it! Alice! She’ll be in this somewhere. He’ll be living with her at Seagull Cottage, waiting for me to send them something official. Well, I won’t, Bridget. I’ll make them sweat. If Eddie’s willing to stay on at Sheldon, while I’m here waiting to have the baby, then so it shall be.”

  Katie sat at her desk on Thornton Ward, thinking back to the previous Sunday with mixed feelings. It was strange how she’d been treated by the grandma and Mr. Arlington. It was if they were trying very hard to please her and she couldn’t for the life of her see the reason why. All she had done for them was nurse their sick grandson; something that she did every day for the patients in her care. Take for instance Peter Robertson, a young man brought in yesterday with gangrene in his foot. Would Mr. and Mrs. Robertson be inviting her around for Sunday tea in the future? She thought not, though maybe Peter wasn’t a good enough argument. The poor lad would probably die next week if the surgeon didn’t cut off his leg.

  Then there was Michael’s behaviour towards her. He had treated her like a china doll, or at least someone who belonged to the gentry. Asking was she comfortable, would she like another scone? Helping her on with her jacket and walking her back to Annie’s house. She had thought that the afternoon had gone well, considering that they were virtual strangers. She’d relaxed a little when she was asked about her job and she had told them all of her hopes of becoming a nursing sister one day. The only thing that had brought a frown to Michael’s grandma’s face was when she had asked about Katie’s family. Something she’d said maybe, but there was a coolness in the room from then.

  Never mind, Katie sighed, it had all been a new experience. To see how other people lived and to see inside their homes. And did it matter if his grandma had taken a dislike to her? Michael had said he’d write again and that’s what mattered, didn’t it?

  After Michael had taken Katie back home, he walked slowly back to Seagull Cottage.

  Something was puzzling him about his grandmama. One minute she was praising Katie to the rooftops, then she seemed to push the girl away. His grandmama could be quite peculiar sometimes. Look how she’d married Mr. Arlington, a mismatch if there ever was. Him, a gentleman used to giving orders, dominated by his little wife who was several years older than him.

  He remembered back to his childhood, when in his early years Grandmama seemed to figure in everything. She took him on walks, played silly games, sat on the shore while he paddled in the waves. Then suddenly there was no more Grandmama. Only Mother and a dainty doll of a sister and they had moved to a great big house with a garden to play in and a nursemaid. There was someone else too, who looked as old as his grandmama, but he had to call her Aunt Betty. She didn’t play or walk with him and he had to be good if she looked after him. It had been like that until his father returned, then back came Grandmama, appearing once more in his life.

  “Is that you, Michael?” Alice called, as her grandson walked into the hallway.

  “I’m in the kitchen cutting yer some sandwiches for your journey tomorrow. Come through and I’ll make yer a cup of tea.”

  “Grandmama, you don’t have to make me sandwiches,” said Michael, as he walked through to speak with her. “I’ve only got half an hour on the train to Chester, then I’m nearly at the barracks. I can get breakfast in the Officer’s Mess when I get there.”

  “Yer need your strength, Michael, after all that sickness. Yer need building up again. These will keep the wolf from the door. And while I think about it, yer don’t seem to have good judgement seeing as you are an officer. That young woman yer brought here today, a gold digger if ever there was one. Coming here, pretending that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I know what she’s up to.”

  “But Grandmama, you were the one who invited her here,” said Michael, looking at his elderly relative in astonishment. “I thought you wanted to look her over so that she could be part of the plan.”

  “Well, yer didn’t tell me she was Ruthie Tibbs’ daughter, did yer? Her father was the one who tried to diddle your father out of the takings, after a fight at the quarry in ‘48.”

  “That was years ago, Grandmama. How could Katie be held to account for something her father did?”

  “They were rubbish, them Tibbses. The father a drunk and the mother a big fat loud mouth. Did yer know they lived in that tumbledown cottage, near where your mother used to live?”

  “I can’t see how it’s got anything to do with Katie, Grandmama. She’s worked hard to become a staff nurse. If what you’re saying is true, I admire her for pulling herself up from her humble beginnings, and when you think about it, Grandmama, so should you.”

  “Well, whatever,” Alice huffed, having the grace to look a little ashamed of herself. “When will you be coming back again, Michael? It doesn’t do to let the fire go out, yer know. You have to keep fanning the flames and letting them know you intend to get what’s due to yer.”

  “I know that, but the problem is I have no recourse. Not when they’ve got permission from my mother to live in the place and to oversee Sheldon. I need to find her address from somewhere or maybe visit her solicitor.”

  “I can help yer with that one, Michael. I can send Mr. Arlington up to see that fellow that he trained up. Richard Clegg, I think he was called. He can tell yer who the solicitor is, then you can go to see him and make your claim.”

  “Oh, Grandmama, what would I do without you?” Michael stooped to kiss Alice on the cheek, who pushed him away with a satisfied smile on her face.

  Hannah lay on her bed at Selwyn Lodge, her face perspiring as her contractions began coming every minute or so. The hired midwife wiped her client’s forehead with one of the birthing rags and smiled at her in encouragement.

  “Come now, Mrs. Dockerty, you’ve done all this before. Keep breathing in and breathing out. That’s right, don’t start pushing yet.”

  Hannah gritted her teeth and tried to do the midwife’s bidding. Though each searing pain was in itself the very devil in its agony, Hannah knew they would bring her nearer to the end of it all. She tried to fix her mind on somewhere or something that gave her pleasure. Redstone House, it had to be, and little Johnny. She conjured up pictures of her child riding on a pony; pity her father had gone and sold Simba; trotting around the paddock at the back of the house. Another pain, another picture; Eddie standing at the front of his quarry, a contented smile upon his face. Redstone House blurred with Selwyn Lodge. Which one had the apple orchard, which the conservatory?

  “Mrs. Dockerty, it’s time fer pushing. I can see the head, now push again.”

  The midwife was crouching at the bottom of
the bed.

  “Now pant, stop pushing, pant again, stop pushing. Now big push, I can see its shoulders. Now rest, now pant, another push. There, you’ve nearly done it. One more big push…”

  Hannah felt as if she was being split in two as the baby made its way into the world. It slithered with a mighty plop into the midwife’s hands.

  “It’s a boy, another boy, Mrs. Dockerty, let me just see to the cord fer him. There, you can have the little lad when I’ve wiped him down. Oh, wait a minute he isn’t crying. Let me give him a slap on the bum… Sorry about that. Here, take him from me, he’s fine now he’s crying. Put him to yer breast, there, that’s right, let him suck while I get the other lot out.”

  The midwife busied herself, wrapping up the afterbirth in a Chester newspaper and throwing away the contents on the blazing bedroom fire.

  “Well, I think I’ve nearly finished. I’ll go down to the kitchen and get a cup of tea, if yer don’t mind. Shall I bring yer some and then we’ll dress him, then I’ll tidy up all the mess? Unless yer want me to do it fer yer now, but I thought you’d rather be alone fer a time.”

  “I do, thank you, Midwife Thompson. We need to get to know each other, don’t we, Georgie? Don’t let my husband come up until we have had a little tidy. I want to look my best for him, not a total wreck.”

  Hannah lay back, gazing with affection at the tiny features on her little son’s wrinkled face. His skin was red and his cheeks looked blotchy, his eyes had pouches underneath, but the rest of him looked strong and healthy as she pulled back his blanket to satisfy herself. Well, that hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be. A few cramps this morning after breakfast, a stronger back ache by lunch time when she had sent for the midwife, a few hours of pushing and panting and lots and lots of pain, but look what she’d got at the end of it all. Another little Dockerty to put in the nursery!

 

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