For My Brother’s Sins

by For My Brother's Sins (retail) (epub)

  ‘What ’ave I told you about messin’ round that slaughterhouse?’ demanded Thomasin. ‘Haven’t you upset ol’ Raper enough for one week?’

  ‘I wasn’t messin’ round,’ objected her younger son. ‘I had the same idea as Erin; I went to see how Aunt Molly was.’

  ‘Aye well, that’s all by the by – I’ve summat much more important to say to you all.’ She then told the children her exciting news and watched each face react as it sank in.

  Erin was the first to congratulate her parents on their good fortune. The piquant face softened into a jubilant smile as she hugged them both sincerely. It was high time they had the reward they deserved after so much hardship.

  ‘You’ll be pleased, Sonny,’ laughed his father as the boy shook his hand and kissed Thomasin. ‘Now ye’ll be able to go back to school.’

  His son smiled, biding his time before putting forward his request. Maybe now he would be able to pursue the education he had in mind. However, his gladness did not stem wholly from self-interest – he was immensely pleased for his parents. He wet his mother’s cheek with an impulsive kiss and she hugged him, laughing. Then she looked expectantly at Dickie’s handsome face, trying to guess what lay behind that inscrutable meditation, and waiting patiently for him to offer his congratulations as had the others.

  But Dickie was thinking of all the things that the money would buy. He was thinking that now he would not have to endure the sulphurous stink of the match factory. But most of all, he was thinking that his mother’s newifound wealth would buy his way into any bed that he wanted …

  Chapter Eleven

  That evening Patrick’s suggestion that they should all go to Mass to give thanks received a mixed response. Thomasin, although not of the Catholic persuasion, often accompanied her husband and children to Mass, but tonight said that there were more pressing affairs to see to. She had not yet balanced the books after stock-taking and would like to put them in order if he did not object.

  Erin, the Catholic teachings instilled in her from birth, accepted Patrick’s proposal without question. The boys, however, did not so readily share her faith and argued that they, like their mother, had more urgent matters to attend to. ‘Mam isn’t going,’ Dickie complained at his father’s insistence.

  ‘Are you aspiring to mutiny?’ came his father’s peremptory reply, to which Dickie shook his head. He was not yet mature enough to engage in full battle with Patrick but felt that at least he must make these occasional token gestures at independence. ‘I’m glad to hear it, ’cause you’re going whether ye like it or not. Is it a couple o’ heathens I’ve raised?’

  Thomasin changed her decision. ‘Maybe I’d best set a good example. I can always do t’books when we get home.’ She went to smarten herself up then, commanding her sons to wash behind their ears before daring to come out of the scullery, she unwound her hair and ran a brush through its gleaming strands. Winding it back into a bun she took the hairpins from between her pursed lips and secured the glossy chignon.

  When all were ready and decently-attired they set off on foot towards the other side of town. Though a church had been built not fifty yards away, Patrick and his family would sooner seek the friendship and understanding of Father Liam Kelly who, over the years, had become a dear and trusted friend as well as confessor.

  Later, when Mass was over, they waited for Liam to change into less formal garb before interrupting his homeward stroll to acquaint him of their good fortune. Liam was delighted; his cherubic face became crazed in wrinkles with his smile. ‘Why, that’s the best bit o’ news I’ve had all week!’ he cried, his green eyes alight with genuine gladness. ‘I’ll be round with me begging bowl the very first thing. I hope, though, that ye’ll not be too rich to talk to the likes o’ me.’

  Patrick pulled down his lower lip. ‘Sure, I’ll talk to anybody, Father, but I can’t vouch for her ladyship here. The money’s gone straight to her head. ’Tis cabs she’s been hiring to run her all over the place – an’ her only feedin’ us bread an’ scrape for our tea. How d’ye like that?’

  ‘Ah, ’tis a terrible thing, Pat, avarice,’ sang the priest. ‘I’m thinking ’tis a penance I’ll have to be setting her. What d’ye say to seventy-five Hail Marys? Is that steep enough d’ye think?’

  ‘I’ll give you Hail Marys,’ retorted the woman irreverently. ‘I was going to ask you round for a meal when we move into our new house, but I’ll think twice about it now.’

  ‘New house?’ Patrick interrupted the priest’s laughter. ‘What’s all this? I didn’t know anything about a new house.’

  ‘There y’are yer see – yer don’t know everything,’ replied Thomasin. ‘Mr Penny’s house, that’s what I mean. It all falls to me, so we might as well take advantage of it’

  Liam asked where it was. ‘Monkgate, I believe,’ answered Thomasin, watching the expression on her husband’s face slowly alter, knowing what was going through his mind. Monkgate was where Roland Cummings used to live – still did as far as she knew. She had not heard of him in years.

  ‘I can see I’ll have to be paying a sovereign before I can speak to you.’

  The priest’s voice infiltrated Patrick’s thoughtfulness and he smiled suddenly. ‘Now, ye know the money’ll never alter us, Father, an’ ye’ll always be welcome – ’specially if ye bring along a few bottles o’ the old golden mixture.’

  Liam spread his hands in mock indignation. ‘Has nobody any respect for the priesthood any more? I shall expect to see ye at the next Confession for that slander. Ah! and speaking of Confession,’ he wheeled on the boys who had been trying to make themselves small, ‘I haven’t noticed your faces outside the confessional lately. Is it saints ye are?’ Liam, very observant of his flock, was always quick to put a name to absentees.

  ‘Saints, Father?’ scoffed Patrick. ‘Ye wouldn’t say that if ye had to live with them. An’ did they not come to Confession last week? For that’s where they purported to be off.’ He tossed a recriminatory glance at his sons.

  ‘We did come,’ lied Dickie. ‘’Twas Father White’s turn to hear Confession.’ Father White was a young priest who was here to learn how to run a church.

  ‘Ah well, that could be the case,’ allowed Liam charitably. ‘Well, I’ll no doubt be seein’ ye this week as ’tis my turn to hear everyone’s sins, God protect me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Father,’ Patrick promised. ‘They’ll be here if I have to drag them along personally.’

  ‘Ah yes, I was about to mention that.’ Liam’s green eyes were cynical.

  ‘Me, Father?’ Patrick made a circular motion with his finger over his head. ‘Can ye not see that little gold hoop? Sure, the amount o’ sinning I’m allowed to do would be very tame compared to some o’ the things I bet you hear.’

  ‘Tame or no, I’ll see you here!’ Liam stabbed a finger at the ground. He then went on to ask if either of them had seen Molly Flaherty. ‘She hasn’t been to Mass since poor Jimmy was taken. I wondered, is she all right^7^’

  ‘I saw her the other night,’ replied Patrick. ‘Ah, she’s still in low spirits, the poor soul. An’ she’d given the vinegar bottle a right belting too.’

  Liam sighed knowingly. ‘I must go round meself an’ have a talk to her.’

  ‘Aye, well I’ll tell her to expect ye,’ said Patrick as the family made to depart. ‘I was thinking to call on her this evening but on second thoughts I’ll leave it till the morning. With me wife doing me out of a job I’ll have the day to meself.’

  They took their leave of Liam, but before going home they called at Monkgate to see the house, if only from the outside. Patrick gained some relief from the fact that it was situated at the opposite end of the road to the Cummings’ residence though he was very quiet as they strolled home to a supper of shortbread and cocoa.

  Later, as the dark shadows enfolded them in their own private dreams, Thomasin snuggled up to her husband’s febrile torso, trying to find a comfortable niche in the lumpy mattress. ‘Wha
t’re you thinkin’ about?’ she asked as he trailed his fingers up and down her arm, obviously deep in thought.

  ‘Oh, I was just wondering what I’m going to do about a job now ye’ve got me sacked.’

  She chuckled softly. ‘Soft ’aporth. It still hasn’t hit you, has id? Yer don’t need a job now. I’ve got a shop, an’ all t’money in t’bank, so why would yer need a job?’

  He hesitated before replying. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of me wife doing the supportin’… ’tis not decent.’

  ‘Oh, here we go again!’ She sat up sharply. ‘Proud Harry. The money’s just as much yours as mine, yer know. In fact in the eyes of the law it’s all yours.’

  ‘It was left to you. I want nothing I haven’t earned.’

  ‘Look!’ she cried exasperatedly. ‘If it’d been t’other way round you wouldn’t’ve kept it all to yerself, would yer?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘But nowt! That money’s for all of us. You, me, the bairns, all of us – an’ there’s an end to it.’ She lay down again.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he answered meekly and she pushed him in playful reproach.

  A short silence followed, then she said, ‘Yer could come an’ help me run t’business if yer like. I’m gonna need help.’

  She sensed his reaction rather than saw it. ‘I’m no businessman, ye should know that by now.’

  She curled her arm round his nakedness, sorry that her words had resurrected memories of the Debtors’ Prison. ‘Tell me what yer’d really like to do.’

  He did not have to think for very long before replying. ‘What I’d really like is what I promised myself when I first came to this country as a youngster: a plot of land to put me name to – somewhere I can be what I really am.’

  His answer seemed to take her by surprise. ‘I would’ve expected yer to say shares in a brewery or summat like that … I’d no idea.’ With his reply she had suddenly been brought to realise that there were still so many things she had to learn about this husband of fifteen years. ‘Well, if that’s what yer want that’s what yer shall have,’ she promised. ‘An’ what will yer do with this here land?’

  He rolled a drowsy face across the pillow. ‘Why, grow things – what else?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Yer might’ve wanted to build on it or summat.’

  ‘Sure an’ why would I be wantin’ to spoil a fine piece of earth by sackin’ up some monstrosity of a building? No, I’d use it how God meant it to be used: to grow food.’ He could already smell the newly-turned soil, black and fertile, clothed with the white flowers of healthy potato plants. Now he must endure the life of a labourer no longer. His wife’s murmured tones broke into his reverie. ‘Sorry, what did ye say? I was miles away.’

  ‘I was just sayin’ that we’ll be able to pay t’mortgage off,’ repeated Thomasin. At first they had rented the property but when circumstances had permitted it they had opted to buy.

  ‘We’ll no doubt make a bob or two when we sell it an’ all.’

  ‘If we sell it,’ came her answer.

  ‘Sure, I thought ye wanted to move into that big house ye’ve inherited. Have ye changed your mind?’

  She was sorry to disappoint him, hearing the note of expectant hope. She knew he was loath to move to Monkgate and knew the reason why. ‘No, yer misconstrue. What I meant was, we might make more money by renting it rather than selling, in the long run.’

  ‘Ye’d make a landlord of me?’ He was incredulous.

  ‘I thought we could help Molly at the same time, offer it to her at a lower rent – say a shillin’ a week.’

  He was again amazed. ‘Rent it to her?’

  ‘Well – you’re surely not suggestin’ we give it to her?’

  ‘She’s done a lot for us.’

  ‘Aye, an’ we’ve done a lot for her, an’ she’s going to get her share of our good fortune. I’m not thinkin’ to leave her penniless. But Patrick, nobody gives houses away – not unless they’re dead anyway. I thought I was bein’ rather generous, offerin’ her a better house for less rent.’

  ‘Well aye, but it just sounds so …’ he couldn’t think of a word. ‘After we’ve known her so long.’

  ‘Yer think I’m being mean I know,’ she replied. ‘But I can just see what would happen if I let you look after our interests. You’d be doling it all out amongst your friends and we’d be back in Britannia Yard within a week. I’m not sayin’ it’s wrong to think of your friends first – I’ve said we’ll make sure Molly’s comfortable – just that we’ve been given this opportunity to make something for ourselves and we mustn’t waste it.’

  ‘I recall a time when ye swore ye only wanted me an’ my children, said ye weren’t bothered where we lived as long as you had us.’

  ‘That still holds,’ she told him firmly. ‘If we hadn’t received this windfall I’d be quite content with what I’ve got. But we have been given it an’ no one in their right minds would turn aside such a chance. It won’t change anything, we’ll still be the people we are, but just a little better fed an’ clothed, an’ more comfortably housed.’

  ‘I suppose so …’ but his tone was not very convincing.

  His display of ill-humour caused her to rethink. ‘If yer really an’ truly can’t bring yerself to live at the house in Monkgate I’ll understand, yer know. I don’t want to force yer into a move where yer won’t be happy. We’ve had some good years here … we don’t have to leave.’

  In the moments that followed the lurid picture flashed through his mind of his wife and that Cummings fellow together, naked and sweating, fornicating … then he said softly, ‘If you’ve set your heart on going there I’ll not be the one to steal your wish. It isn’t as if we’ll be living next door to … Besides, all that business is over an’ done with now.’ But was it^7^ When she had all that wealth, a big house and fancy clothes, would he, a poor Irish labourer, still be good enough for her? Or would living in such close proximity to the man whose mistress she had once been set the relationship in motion again?

  ‘I’d like to think yer believe that, Pat – that it is all over. I didn’t ever love him, yer know.’ How easily she could read his thoughts, even though the darkness hid his eyes. She gave him an encouraging squeeze and he turned to her, the passion thudding inside. ‘There’s only one man I’ve ever loved,’ she added sincerely. ‘An’ surely I don’t have to tell yer who that is, do I? Not after all these years.’

  ‘Tell me.’ The soft lilt of his brogue breathed warm upon her ear and she mouthed the words he wanted her to say. Then intertwining they became as one, a sensuous, writhing beast beneath the bedclothes.

  * * *

  The next morning, Patrick suggested his wife go with him when he went to see Molly to tell her the good news.

  ‘Sorry, you’ll have to go on yer own, love,’ Thomasin told him as she stood before the mirror winding her hair. ‘I’ve a business to run, remember?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ he nodded and, groping under the chair for his best boots put them on. ‘I’m clean forgetting you’re the provider now.’ Properly attired he stood. ‘Will I at least give her your regards then?’

  ‘’Course.’ She put in the last hairpin. ‘An’ tell her I’ll be round to see her soon as I can.’

  ‘How much’re we going to give her, then?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll ’ave to wait till we get everything sorted out before we know that – you can take her what bit we’ve got saved in the tin if yer like.’

  Patrick, pocketing the two sovereigns from the tin, set out for Britannia Yard. When he got there he had to wait while Raper cleared the alleyway of sheep before proceeding to Molly’s. ‘I may as well say my goodbyes now, Mr Raper,’ he called above the bleating and cursing. ‘I’ll be leavin’ the area shortly an’ knowin’ how much the parting is going to break your heart I’d not like to leave it till the last minute, there’s always tears, isn’t there?’

  ‘Off back to the bogs are we?’ bawled Raper, kicking a sheep up
the rear. ‘Best bloody place for thee.’

  ‘Er, no – I’m off to live among the nobs actually,’ returned Patrick lightly. ‘We’ve come into money, don’t ye know. Got ourselves a nice big house over the other side o’ town.’

  ‘I think I know it,’ said Raper. ‘Got bars on the windows an’ padded walls.’

  Patrick gave a heartrending sigh. ‘Ah, there y’are ye see, I knew ye’d be upset at us going.’ The sheep out of his way, he entered the Yard and came up to the butcher. ‘But never mind. I’ve sent for two dozen o’ my cousins from the ould country just so’s ye don’t feel too lonely. Told them there’s this nice little place called Britannia Yard where they’ll be made to feel most welcome.’ He cupped his ear as Raper swore. ‘Best o’ luck, did ye say? Why, thank ye, Mr Raper. Oh, here! Let me give ye something just to show my regard.’ He thrust his hand into his pocket and followed Raper up to the doors of the slaughterhouse. The butcher held out his hand to accept Patrick’s offering – a button. ‘That’s for your lip. I’m sure it’ll come in very handy when my cousins get here.’

  He was still chuckling as he poked his head round the door of Molly’s dingy hovel. ‘God save all here!’

  Molly was sitting listlessly in a corner, a cup in her hands. Around her on the bare floor small children frolicked. With a child every year Molly’s house had never been a peaceful place. Though these were not her own children, for even if Jimmy had still been alive there’d have been no more; she was past all that, God be praised. No, these were her grandchildren whom she tended while their parents worked. Her own youngest, born five years ago, was at school now so things were not quite so hectic. Seeing the identity of her visitor she brightened and gave a pathetic gesture of admittance. ‘Just the very fella I need to lift me spirits.’

  He came up to her and peered into the cup. ‘Ye don’t seem to be doing too badly without my help.’

  ‘Sit ye down an’ stop your preachin’. Will ye take one with me?’