But Harriet jerked the child out of range. ‘You can’t—’
‘Yes, I can!’ Boadicea was firm as she tried to take charge. ‘They’ve a circus to go to this evening. We thought they might not be home in time from your hou—’
‘I don’t care about that!’ Nora remained bullish, competing for Juggy’s hand, and eventually grasping it, Harriet still holding the other one. ‘Saturday’s our day to have them, and they’re coming with me – and if me laddo thinks he’s cheating me out of seeing my grandsons, he can think again! You can send them down when they’ve been to the barber’s. Come on, Honor!’ And she made to lead the girls away.
Boadicea saw the look of desperation on Juggy’s face at the thought of missing the circus. ‘Mrs Beasty, you can’t be so mean as to—’
‘Mean? I’ll give you mean!’ Harriet let go of Juggy and advanced on Boadicea, her bunched fist in contrast to the rather elegant swagger coat she wore.
‘Go on then!’ Boadicea braced herself with a meaningful look on her face, which caused Harriet to think again – though she did not back off, but glared at her opponent as if ready to fly at her any minute.
Juggy had started to weep, Honor putting an arm round her, and both anxiously awaiting the outcome. Passers-by had stopped to goggle too, passengers craning for a last look as their bus drove past. Boadicea was deeply embarrassed – but more than that, she was furious.
‘Look at the poor child – can’t you see what you’re doing to her?’ she berated the women.
‘She’ll live!’ came an acid retort from Nora.
‘I shall tell the police!’ bluffed Boadicea, stumbling off the kerb as she tried to get around Harriet to rescue the crying victim. ‘Their father’s entrusted them to me!’
But this only drew more sounds of contempt from Harriet and Nora.
Persistently, she ran around them and tried to bar their way, but they just barged straight through her, taking the girls with them.
‘One moment, madam!’ A stentorian voice was to hinder the attempted abduction, Nora and Harriet both halting as the imposing figure stalked up to them, his arrogant bearing and perfect elocution commanding respect. ‘I have reason to believe you are attempting to remove these children from their guardian, and I must ask you to accompany me to the police station!’
‘I’m their grandmother!’ objected Nora, though under the authority of the plainclothes officer, her confidence was fading to bravado, ‘and this is their aunt.’
‘And as I understand it,’ snapped the man with the sour, cadaverous face, indicating Boadicea as he laid down the law, ‘this is the individual who has been appointed by their father to look after them, therefore you would be committing an offence in taking them away. Now, kindly hand them over!’
Nora and Harriet were no shrinking violets if their opponent was an equal, but presented with such officialdom, their stand was to be exposed as bluster and, with grim faces, mother and daughter abandoned the girls and marched away – though not without a series of muttered threats over their shoulders.
‘No wonder we won the war with men like you!’ Boadicea heaved a sigh of relief, as her fellow boarder escorted her and the distressed girls through the alleyway and into the mansion. ‘Thank you, Mr Yarker. I don’t know what I’d have done without ye.’
‘What an objectionable pair of hoydens,’ opined Yarker, his mouth contorted with its usual look of distaste. ‘Don’t mention it, my dear – but do please attend to that snivelling.’
Boadicea quickly stooped to mop Juggy’s eyes with a handkerchief, finally to receive the shuddering question, ‘Why did me granny not want us to go to the circus?’
‘Aw! It wasn’t that she didn’t want ye to go,’ her guardian told her gently, as she dabbed the mottled cheeks and patted them.
‘Are we still off then?’ Juggy still vibrated with emotion, yet there was a glimmer of hope through her tears.
‘Of course you are!’ Though the incident had thoroughly disconcerted her too, Boadicea tried to sound bright as she steered the two girls to where an impatient-looking Yarker held open the door for them. ‘But there’s ages yet, so come on, let’s go have a cup of tea and a bun with Ma. She’ll make ye feel better – and best not mention this to your daddy when we get home. He’ll only be upset.’
Nevertheless, she herself would be obliged to tell Niall some time, for this situation was intolerable. It was fortunate that Sean and Emma came to collect the children at a quarter past four, thereby lending Boadicea time to enjoy a peaceful tea with Niall, before having to reveal what had happened, prior to her leaving for work.
As expected, he flew into an immediate rage.
‘That’s it!’ He shot from his chair. ‘I’ve bloody had it up to here with that lot. Right, I’m off up to Harriet’s now and tell ’em they’re not seeing my kids again!’
‘Oh, Niall, could ye just hang on till tomorrow?’ Looking worn down, Boadicea jumped up too and held on to his arm.
But he fought her. ‘No, don’t try to stop me!’
‘I’m not bloody going to!’ Still annoyed and shaken by this afternoon’s episode, she had no wish to urge caution this time, for it was obvious that the Beastys understood only one language. ‘But I was hoping you’d come with me to the pub and have a few drinks before the kids get back. If you leave Nora till tomorrow night, then I’ll be here to look after them …’
And so, under her pleading gaze, Niall accompanied her to the Five Lions to douse his anger with a few pints, and to spend an hour chatting to her, until compelled to go home in time for the children’s return.
The next evening, however, was to be less recreational.
Knowing Niall to be more than a match for the Beastys, and having heard what he proposed to say, Boadicea could not help a smile of satisfaction at the thought that this nastiness would soon be dealt with, as she saw him off on his crusade that Sunday night.
Her mind’s eye picturing each stage of his progress, as she went back and forth, helping the little ones to get undressed for bed, she was to become so abstracted that she forgot to undo the buttons on Brian’s jumper, and in trying to tug it over his head she lifted him clean off his feet.
‘Sorry, Bri! Did I nearly strangle ye?’ At his muffled squawk, she pulled the jumper hastily back into place, and unfastened it properly before taking it off, but even as she helped him into his pyjamas, she was thinking of Niall – now he was through Walmgate Bar, now along Lawrence Street, march, march, marching with deep intent, now surely at Tang Hall, and finally at the Beasty one’s door – she could almost hear his words …
‘Bring your mother out, Harriet!’ commanded Niall, facing his sister-in-law across her doorstep. ‘I’m not repeating meself!’
And when a tight-lipped Nora barged forth to demand, ‘What do you want?’ he was to tell her, in no uncertain terms.
‘You know why I’m here! You’ve been warned about taking the kids without permission, but you obviously can’t be trusted! So until you can keep to the rules, you’re not going to see them any more. When I entrust them to Boadicea, I don’t expect somebody else to come along and drag them away, upsetting them – not to mention her – and if you try it again there’ll be trouble!’
‘You might trust a barmaid to look after them, but I don’t!’ bellowed a furious Nora. ‘For a start, she’s not their mother—’
‘But she soon will be!’ shot Niall, pushing his wolfish features towards his mother-in-law and enjoying the look on her face as he informed her, ‘We’re getting married in December.’ He did not give precise detail, for she would be sure to ruin his day. ‘And then she’ll be their legal guardian, so if you try to take them without her permission I’ve told her to report you to the police!’ And after waiting a second for his warning to sink in, he spun on his heel and made for the gate.
‘It’ll be us who’s sending for the police!’ bawled Harriet, stalking after him to clatter the gate into place, and to lean over it and hurl insults
as Niall strode away. ‘That filthy trollop couldn’t manage dishwater, let alone children!’
But Niall knew that these were words of desperation, for when he had left Boadicea half an hour ago she had been managing very well indeed. Thus he threw Harriet and her mother a last caution. ‘Well, she seems to be doing a better job of it than you – so stay away,’ cause I won’t tell you again!’
‘Batty, I won’t tell you again! Put that book down and get up at the table like I told ye ten minutes ago!’ A slightly irritated Boadicea finished plaiting Juggy’s hair, then dealt her a gentle shove towards the table where the others sat drinking their hot beverage. Finding herself ignored, she added, ‘I’m going to tip your cocoa down the sink if you don’t come and drink it!’
‘See if I care,’ mouthed Batty from behind his tome.
‘What was that?’ Boadicea put her hands on her hips and directed herself at the one in the armchair. ‘I think ye might care when your father comes home and finds out how rude you’ve been.’
But the six-year-old was obviously wise to her, knowing from the lack of a good hiding from his father that she had not informed on him before. One might have hoped that last night’s trip to the circus would have induced good behaviour, but the boys had been giddy as clowns since Niall had gone out. Boadicea suspected this obstructive behaviour was due to the girls giving their brothers an account of yesterday’s commotion between herself and their grandmother. Even in her absence, Nora made herself felt.
With a hiss of impatience, she made for the stairs. ‘One last time! If you’re not up at the table by the time I’ve sorted out your dirty clothes for tomorrow’s wash, you’re for the chop!’
Overhearing yet another impudent comment as she left the room, and sniggers from the others, Boadicea stomped upstairs and began to go about the bedrooms, collecting things to wash and muttering to herself, ‘What sort of idiot am I? Here am I cooking for the little swine, doing his washing – and him treating me like dirt!’ Still, as she went through Batty’s trouser pocket to check for unwanted articles in her washtub, she could not help but laugh to herself as she read his childish scrawl upon the bit of paper that fell to the floor, along with a few pebbles and matches.
Her amusement was curtailed by a knock at the front door. With a sigh, she made towards the staircase. However, Honor was to beat her to it. ‘I’ll go!’
‘Thanks, Honey,’ Boadicea called back, smiling again as she tucked Batty’s list into her own skirt pocket, and continued to gather the clothes – that was, until Honor hissed up the stairs: ‘It’s a policeman!’
Boadicea’s heart skipped a beat – she was almost sick – and for a second she could not move.
There came a pounding up the staircase, then Honor poked her pretty freckled nose round the door. ‘Did you hear me?’ And she stared at Boadicea, who seemed frozen to the spot. Her mind a cauldron bubbling with thoughts, Boadicea tried to fight her way to the surface, turning vacantly to the speaker and attempting to sound calm, though her heart was beating so quickly that it brought her dangerously close to fainting. ‘Yes … yes, I’m coming … I just wanted to finish off up here.’ Struggling to compose herself as she went, she followed Honor downstairs and, whilst Niall’s elder daughter went into the living room, she moved like an automaton to the door. By the time she reached it, she had managed to fight off the tide of panic, though her face remained pale and her legs weak.
‘Is this the home of Bartholomew Doran?’ enquired the policeman.
Warily, Boadicea gave affirmation.
‘Then I’d like to speak to your son, please, Mrs Doran.’
Too concerned to know why the officer was here, she did not correct his misassumption that she was Batty’s mother, but said, ‘I’ll fetch him.’
But as she turned and went to the kitchen, without invitation the policeman followed her. ‘Come in, why don’t ye?’ She was now sufficiently recovered to offer sarcasm, her eyes fixing him as he stood in the middle of the living room as if he owned the place, but he ignored her and continued to examine each of the other occupants.
Prepared by their sister for the policeman’s entrance, most of the children returned his mistrustful scrutiny with awe, all except Batty in his armchair, who continued to read, his face hidden behind the large book.
Boadicea gave swift instruction. ‘Would you take your books upstairs, please – not you, Batty! The policeman wants to speak to ye.’
Dragging their heels, the children made their exit, Boadicea giving the last one a helpful shove then closing the door on them, before standing with arms folded to hear the accusation.
‘This afternoon,’ began the officer, his worldly eyes impaling the small brown-haired boy, ‘we received a report that a collection of garden tools had been stolen from a shed at the rear of Margaret Street. A number of boys were seen loitering in the vicinity on Saturday morning and were chased away by the owner, who only discovered the theft around two p.m. today. A witness gave your name as one of those seen running away yesterday. So, Master Doran,’ he concluded sternly, ‘what have you to say to this?’
‘Weren’t me.’ The six-year-old’s blue eyes beheld him ingenuously.
A period of interrogation was to ensue, an anxious Boadicea standing by to hug herself and to listen as Niall’s son insisted, ‘I’ve been at church today.’
‘And what about yesterday?’
‘I went to get me hair cut with me dad.’
‘That would take all of ten minutes – where were you the rest of the day?’
Batty appeared thoughtful. ‘Me uncle took us to the circus.’
‘And what about the morning?’
Batty shrugged. ‘I was just here, with her.’
‘You can vouch for your son’s whereabouts, I suppose, Mrs Doran?’
Only now did Batty betray a hint of anxiety. Studying Niall’s son for that fleeting moment, Boadicea read what was there and responded unequivocally to the policeman, ‘Yes, it’s true what the lad says. He was here with me the entire morning.’
‘What, every second of it?’ The constable looked disbelieving.
It was obvious that Boadicea had little respect for the police, but until now fear had caused her to remain civil. She narrowed her eyes, and her chin came up. ‘Would you be calling me a liar?’
‘Certainly not.’ He shook his head, though his own blue eyes remained shrewd as they adhered to hers, exacerbating her discomfort as he plainly saw through her. ‘I just find it strange for a lad his age to be stuck in the house on a Saturday.’
‘There’s nothing strange about it.’ Boadicea kept up her resistance. ‘He was ill in bed.’
‘Not ill enough to keep him from the circus.’
‘That was five hours later! I didn’t want to keep him from his treat. He was all right after he vomited. I had to clear up after him, that’s why I can vouch so surely – so the one that says they saw him is the liar.’
‘Well …’ the man in blue continued to eye her, clearly disbelieving a word she said, ‘the witness couldn’t be entirely certain it was him.’
‘So we’ve been put through all this by some eejit who needs his eyes testing?’ scoffed Boadicea. ‘It’s funny how my lad was the only one named. Sounds like somebody has it in for him, if you ask me.’
‘All right …’ he procrastinated, his eyes still not leaving her, ‘but I’ll just have a quick look in your coalhouse to satisfy myself.’
‘To see there are no stolen goods, ye mean? Be my guest.’ Stalking ahead on her green suede high heels, Boadicea escorted him into the yard, then gave a theatrical presentation of the coal bunker, and hovered, hugging her body against the cold whilst the policeman shone his torch into it, then moved to a shed to flash it over the array of tools therein.
‘Every one of those belongs to the boy’s father.’
The officer withdrew, his tone and attitude lacking any form of apology. ‘Right, I can see there are no gardening implements.’
‘Th
at’s it then, is it?’ she enquired tersely, as he switched off his torch.
‘Yes, I’m obliged for your co-operation.’ He eyed her with slight contempt.
‘You can leave this way if ye like.’ An angry Boadicea hurried to open the rear gate. It was bad enough a uniformed figure coming to the front door in the first place; she did not want him leaving that way too. The instant he was through, she slammed the gate and rammed the bolt home.
When she returned to the kitchen, Batty was still seated there, head in his book, the epitome of virtue. ‘Right,’ she said to him, quietly menacing, ‘let’s be having it.’
He looked up to perform a theatrical frown. ‘What?’
‘Don’t come the injured party with me, Stainless Stephen – it won’t wash! Where have ye stashed the goods?’
The boy turned fierce. ‘I never stole owt! I knew you wouldn’t believe me!’
Arms folded under her breast, she said with weary patience, ‘Batty, if you’re ever to become a master criminal it’s not a good idea to keep a list in your pocket with the heading “BURGLAR GANG” – and your name in top position.’ She saw his look of shock, and drove her accusation home by brandishing the slip of paper. ‘Yes, I just found it minutes before the policeman came when I was sorting your clothes out to wash! I thought it was just some game – little did I know. Now come on, let’s have this out before your father gets in. I don’t want him worrying about it!’
‘You won’t tell him then?’ Batty’s expression changed from defeat to optimism.
‘Do you really think that good man wants to hear that his son is a thief?’ Boadicea flung at him.
The boy hung his head.
‘Haven’t you anything to say?’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘A thank you might be in order too!’ Her voice and eyes were scathing. ‘I’ve made myself a liar sticking up for you.’
At last he looked suitably grateful, his remorse genuine. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 37