Ruby Flynn

by Nadine Dorries

  Now they were both men. Rory, in his late forties, made Charles feel, at thirty-three, as if he was still a young man. Charles regarded Rory almost as family. He knew him, liked him and more than that, he trusted him, too.

  He wondered, not for the first time, why Rory had left Ballyford so suddenly. But none of that mattered now. They were working as a team, united by the Marianna and the new shipping business.

  They had met that lunchtime in the new office and their recently appointed assistant had made them fancy sandwiches and a pot of tea. Rory’s desk faced out over the Mersey and for a few moments they had sat and watched the Royal Iris as she loaded her passengers and the dredger, making its steady way across to Birkenhead. Rory was keen.

  ‘Sure, I can do it,’ he said enthusiastically, when Charles asked him could he manage the company whilst he went home to Ballyford. ‘My lad is virtually running the salvage business, and why wouldn’t I want to help my Lord Charles?’ Rory winked to dispel any notion that he was being facetious.

  It worked. It always did. Charles had no idea how much Rory loathed the FitzDeanes. If he had any notion that Rory had spent his life winning his trust and favour, while all the time despising him, he would have been shocked to his core. Rory Doyle was a charmer who used people with ease and without conscience.

  ‘Are you still a rouge on the tables, Rory?’ Charles asked, sheepishly. Like everyone else, he had heard the tales of Rory’s gambling.

  ‘Well, let’s put it this way, shall we…’ Rory crushed his cigarette into the ashtray with exaggerated force and picked up and examined an egg sandwich. He began to pull the threads of mustard cress away from the sides. ‘When I gamble, ’tis only with me own money, not anyone else’s, so I’m thinking that would be legal now and classed as me own enjoyment.’ His smile belied the bristling edge to his voice.

  Charles laughed out loud. ‘That’s fine. It’s none of my business what you do with your own money, Rory. I’m not prying. Just showing concern, that’s all. I had a reason for asking: would you like to become a full partner in the business?’ Charles asked this question out of the blue. He could see he had irritated Rory with his question about gambling and wanted to make it up to him. Without his being aware, it had been the cycle of their friendship since their boyhood days.

  ‘I need someone who can give the business their all. Work seven days a week, if necessary, to make the Marianna a success. If there is one thing you know, it’s shipping.’

  Rory thought for a moment. Even he hadn’t expected this. He knew he had to pick his words carefully and took a bite of his sandwich to buy himself some time.

  ‘I will give it my all, lord Charles,’ he said, sombrely and without enthusiasm. ‘You know I will do that anyway, you don’t have to make me a partner, you know.’

  ‘No, I want to, you deserve it. I can’t expect you to put the work in and not take the rewards. I want to pay you as an equal in the business,’ said Charles with full enthusiasm and an almost pleading voice.

  It worked. Rory smiled.

  Charles was in the middle of developing his plans to expand the Ballyford holdings and in that year, Rory had taught Charles most of what he knew about shipping. It was reassuring for Charles to have someone older lending a helping hand. Rory was rough around the edges, but skilled and competent. What let him down was that his eye was always on the bigger prize. The one he could attain with lady luck and no effort from himself. Greed was his vice and on occasion it had nearly taken him down. But Charles had found himself leaving more and more of the day-to-day running of the business to Rory. It had been the same when they were kids. Although Charles had been the heir to the castle, it was Rory who lorded it around the estate.

  Tomorrow morning, Charles would set off for Ballyford on the first boat and leave Rory in charge of tying up the remaining loose ends of the deal.

  ‘Thank God for Rory,’ Charles said out loud, as he hurried along into the foggy night. If it weren’t for him, a trip back to Ballyford at this crucial stage of the process would have been out of the question. Charles had sworn that, when he married, he would never leave Ballyford and now here he was deepening his business interests in England and Ballyford was the place he dreaded visiting more than anywhere else in the world.

  Tonight, however, he knew exactly what he had to do. He had abandoned his suit and bowler hat, the uniform for men of business in Liverpool and wore shabby trousers and a worker’s donkey jacket. His brown brogues were down on the heel and he had placed a workman’s cap on his head.

  The clothes had been the most difficult part of his deceit. Unable to give this task to any servant, he had visited a pawnshop himself and pretended he was buying the clothes as an act of charity for a lady from the church.

  He was shocked at the bluntness of the woman behind the counter.

  ‘Are you sure those trousers aren’t for you?’ she asked him, with narrow eyes. ‘It’s just that yer awful particular like about whether they fits yer or not. How d’ya know he’s the same size as you? You just told me you never met ’im.’

  Charles handed the money over and fled out of the door. Liverpool women were as sharp as a Stanley knife and twice as clever.

  The lights of the pub he was heading for twinkled in the smog ahead, urging him along. The fog was disorientating and he hoped he would have no trouble finding a cab back to Sefton Park when he was done. Looking up and down the street first, he slipped into the pub. Charles knew it wouldn’t take him long. He would be back home by ten, in bed by half past and up at six, ready to face the formidable Mrs Bat.

  His eyes alighted upon her immediately. She was standing with three other girls by the jukebox and was swaying to the music. She wore a mid-calf length red dress with a square neck, which fell in soft pleats. Her dark and tightly crimped hair sat stiffly on her shoulders. It was not a style any of the women in Charles’s circle would adopt. The style alone defined her class; that and her lips, which were painted a bright cherry red and complemented the dress. That was enough for Charles. A man from his background could never be seen with a woman who wore crimped hair and red lips. The women in his social circle had never set foot inside a pub and would not be seen outdoors without a hat, kid gloves and a matching handbag.

  At least Stella wasn’t one of the religious ones. The ‘not on the first night’ girls. How would he have told her kindly that there would be no second night? And yet here he was, breaking his own rules.

  He bought himself a pint of Guinness and sent over a gin and orange. Five minutes later she was by his side at the bar.

  ‘Well, I knew you’d be back.’ Stella grinned.

  Despite himself, he grinned back, as he remembered to slip into a more working class accent. ‘How’s that then? You psychic or what?’

  She laughed as she swilled down her drink, her eyes twinkled and she blushed. ‘You were me first, I wanted yer to come back.’

  Charles looked around the bar and whispered in her ear, and she giggled again.

  Half an hour later he slipped her twenty pounds while she straightened her skirt. She almost fainted with the shock.

  ‘I can’t take that,’ she said. ‘I’m norra whore, I just fancied yer, you’ve got nice eyes.’ She grinned up at him and wobbled precariously, placing one of her hands on his arm while she tried to replace the high-heeled sandals, which had slipped off her feet at the height of her passion. Charles was taken aback. The twenty-pound note was equal to a month’s wage for a girl of her age and position.

  ‘Come back to my place and meet me mam and our kids. I don’t want yer money.’ As she spoke she slipped the twenty-pound note into her handbag, which she had retrieved, having earlier discarded it unceremoniously on the floor. Her contrary nature fascinated Charles.

  ‘No, I know that, girl, but go on, I won it on the gee-gees – go an’ ’ave a laugh with yer mates. I’ll find yer soon.’

  And that’s where he left her, standing by the bins looking bewildered as he slipped away i
nto the enveloping fog once more.

  Back home he lay in his bed and wondered yet again why he did it. He knew in his heart that it was to prevent himself seeking solace in the arms of his wife and risking another pregnancy when he returned to Ballyford. He would be tempted, he always was. This made it easier, this and the knowledge that when he returned to Liverpool, his little Stella or any one of many beautiful Liverpool ladies would be available. He and Isobel had given up the pretence of loving one another a long time ago, but she was his wife, he was a young man and in his marriage was where his needs should be met. But he could not go there. Never, ever again.

  *

  While Charles slept, Rory sat on the late train to Euston. It had been far easier than he had imagined to persuade Charles to use Nicholas Nathan, the maritime lawyer he had met whilst running his salvage company, who had often made visits to Liverpool to meet him and haggle over the value of salvage. Mr Nathan also liked gambling and Rory had introduced him to the card schools in the back rooms of Bold Street. They had become good friends over their pints of mild and whisky chasers in smoky bars and had dreamt up a plan to make both men rich. Nicholas Nathan often travelled to Piraeus in Greece on behalf of a shipping line which was expanding into cruising the Mediterranean, and he had made some interesting if dubious contacts from the shipping world.

  Rory had lost huge sums on the poker tables and on horses at Aintree. He was concerned that Charles had somehow got wind of this. Rory kept his gambling under cover. He owed too many people not to. Charles’s comments had put the wind up him. The offer of a partnership, with a substantial financial payment, had arrived at a crucial moment and then the ideas had just simply run away with him. Charles had unwittingly helped Rory to seal his own fate. It had been easy to transfer the failing salvage company to his wife and his son and a brilliant plan of Nathan’s. It held the debtors off for a little while longer. What had not been so easy, was persuading Amy to leave his note in the castle.

  ‘I want to know what’s in it first,’ Amy had said. They had met in secret in her mother’s cottage on the estate. Poor Amy, she was so easy for him to manage. He had once told her he would take everything from Ballyford and precious Lord Charles and Amy had laughed at him. Soon she would laugh no more.

  The business and his wife, that would do. Rory smiled to himself. For now.

  ‘Tea, biscuits, cake?’

  A guard pushed a wooden trolley towards him with an urn balanced precariously on top. Rory instinctively shifted in his seat away from the aisle and took some coins out of his trouser pocket.

  ‘Tea please,’ he said as he smiled up at the guard.

  Rory felt good and wished he had something stronger. He had worked hard to get Charles to invite him into the business. It had taken years. It had been exhausting winning his trust. He knew Charles carried guilt with him every day. The sins of his father haunted him and no one knew that better than Rory himself. Rory had been his father’s accomplice. An accomplice who had never been paid in full. The best-kept secret. Guilt. A powerful emotion. As he sipped his tea and gazed out of the window, watching the lights of industry twinkle in the night sky, he mused over how willingly Charles had agreed to his plan.

  ‘I don’t think you should use your own solicitor in Liverpool for this deal,’ Rory had said as they stood on the Southampton dockside, looking up at the towering sides and the blue and white striped funnel of the Marianna. ‘Maritime law is quite specialized. The Blue Star Line used a man from London, a maritime lawyer by the name of Nicholas Nathan, because he was the best.’

  Charles knew that what he felt right now, looking up at the ship, was a diluted version of what he had felt on becoming a father. But this is safer, he thought to himself. ‘Really?’ he replied. ‘Why was he the best?’

  ‘Well, because he has the brain, I suppose. Look, she’s a big ship and worth a lot of money for a start. Let’s use a serious brief in London and then we can bring on board a local solicitor in Liverpool to tie up the ends.’

  ‘My father used a solicitor in Dublin,’ said Charles. ‘I haven’t had much need for one over these last few years and anyway, I have never thought much of my father’s solicitor, reminds me too much of him for my liking.’

  ‘Well, there aren’t many other options in truth, Charles. At least Nathan will know all the pitfalls, as an experienced maritime solicitor. Always important to put the right person in charge of the job.’

  Charles glanced back up at the towering funnels. He wanted to object, but felt churlish because he didn’t really know why. Rory knew shipping better than he ever would. If he felt this was the right man to use, he had to trust him and let him know that Charles respected his opinion. After all, he had known Rory for all of his life. He suppressed his instinctive wariness at the prospect of using a solicitor he didn’t know. Maybe owning a ship is like having a child, he thought to himself. The inherent degree of possessiveness. The mistrust of anyone other than oneself taking control.

  ‘Yes, you are quite right, Rory,’ he said, with more confidence than he felt.

  ‘Good, I shall visit him immediately,’ said Rory, seizing the moment. ‘We don’t want any delays, time is money and we need to use someone we can be sure knows the job and can push along.’

  ‘When we get back to Lime Street, let’s head over to Sefton Park for me to collect the contract,’ said Rory, sensing Charles’s hesitance and pushing the point to his favour. ‘If I can’t see the lawyer today, I’ll visit him tomorrow. I can leave it all to him.’ Rory slapped Charles on the back and the two men walked back to the waiting car chatting.

  Charles could not shift the feeling of uneasiness resting in the pit of his stomach. ‘I think McKinnon is right, Rory,’ he said as they drove away from Southampton docks and he looked out through the car windows at his new purchase, diminishing in size as it retreated from sight. ‘I think I do need a spell at Ballyford.’

  ‘Ah, well, I was there meself to see mammy, ’tis just the same,’ said Rory.

  Rory was delighted. Charles being out of the way for a few weeks was perfect. Everything was going to plan. Charles was completely unaware that he had just taken the worst decision of his life.

  *

  Rory spent the night in Euston station and met Nicholas Nathan for breakfast in the station café at first light. Rory chose the bacon and egg on toast and Nicholas the smoked kippers. They both lit up a cigarette while they were waiting to be served.

  ‘I still can’t get used to being able to order kippers and eggs in a café so easily,’ said Nicholas. ‘God, the war lasted a bloody long time.’

  Over breakfast Rory explained what he wanted to achieve. ‘It can be done,’ said Nicholas almost an hour later. ‘It is a very bold and daring plan, but between us, I think we can achieve it. I’ll need sixty per cent, mind.’

  Rory’s toes curled. Sixty per cent? That was far more than he had expected. However, 40 per cent of this deal was better than 40 per cent of nothing, in the grand scheme of things. He was in no position to complain. If he pulled this off, his debts would be cleared. His own son would be secure and the thugs who had waited at the corner of the road when he left for work only the previous morning, would stop demanding that he pay back his debts. The patience of the men he owed the money to and had gambled away in the smoky back rooms of the card schools was running short. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they let his wife, Margaret, know the perilous position he was in. Losing the house would kill Margaret, but not until she, or more accurately her brothers had killed him first.

  ‘You don’t like the FitzDeanes, do you?’ Nicholas said.

  ‘I never liked any man who broke a promise. I left my home to do his dirty work. My mammy cries every time I see her and her head has hung in shame ever since. She has barely set foot outside her cottage since that night. The man was an evil bastard who ran me out of me own home. I will make him pay, and from his cold tomb he will know it. No one gets away with cheating Rory Doyle.
He gave me only half the money I was promised for doing what I did and then the bastard made me wait for years before he went and died. Charles could never know what happened. I would be cutting of me nose to spite my face if I told him. There’s nothing to be gained by going down that road. This is my chance, my retribution you might say. I hate the fecking FitzDeanes. What did they ever do to earn their money? When did any of them ever slave for an honest days pay?

  ‘Sins of the father, they never truly go away, do they?’ said Nathan.

  ‘Some sins are worse than others,’ said Rory, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘The myth is they was good landlords during the famine, but that’s just a load of shite. They put one poor girl into the Galway poor house.’

  Nathan detected bitterness in Rory’s voice. It made him uncomfortable. He met people like Rory every day of the week in the courts of justice. Those born with sense of entitlement. The irony of the thought was lost to him as he made to leave. ‘Remind me never to cross you,’ said Nathan.

  ‘You already have,’ Rory grimaced, ‘with your sixty per cent.’

  *

  Rory and Nicholas left the café separately. Nicholas to his office, for a dishonest day’s work. Rory to the washroom for a quick shave and then back to platform four, for the train back to Liverpool.

  An uncomfortable and unfamiliar sense of guilt swamped him as he stood and waited for the train. A vision of himself and the young Charles, fishing together on the banks of the river at Ballyford ran through his mind. But then he thought of his mother in her cottage, who once lived happily at Ballyford, chatting to Miss McAndrew at the front door each day. Now, she cried every time he saw her. Knowing and hearing the whispers and the stories that had followed her son around for years. She hated it. All he had wanted to do was make a better life for her. The Doyles and McAndrews had lived next door to each other at Ballyford for hundreds of years. His biggest mistake was not realising this was what made his mammy happy.