Sonny deliberated for a long time. ‘Saints don’t tell on their brothers’, came Dickie’s parting shot. ‘No, Father, just me,’ the boy finally lied, and even as it slipped out, he thought – oh no! that’s another sin, and silently prayed to God to add this one to His list.
Liam was quiet for another few seconds, then abruptly gave a penance and told Sonny to go and sin no more. Sonny could tell by the tone of voice that he had shocked his old friend deeply. He emerged from the confessional cursing his brother for letting him carry the blame; at least Dickie had got something out of it – like he was probably getting it now. Damn him!
Chapter Twelve
Thomasin lifted the glass cowl from the oil lamp and applied a taper to the wick. The room was gradually infused with the smell of fried bacon, due to her economical measure of using the stale fat from the frying pan to fuel the lamps. Patrick furrowed his brow as he turned over another page of his York Herald. ‘Sure, ’tis still light, what d’ye want to go wastin’ fuel for? The sun’s not gone down yet.’
Thomasin settled herself beside the lamp and opened a book; even without benefit of a full education this joy had not been lost to her. ‘I’ve been watchin’ yer squintin’ an’ screwin’ up yer eyes for t’past half hour. Yer’ll be goin’ blind if y’aren’t careful, tryin’ to read in that light. Anyroad, yer talkin’ as if we’re still poverty-stricken. We’ll soon have enough brass to keep ten lamps goin’.’ She was about to begin her book when another idea struck her. ‘Eh, I wonder if we’ll have gas lamps at this new house? I’ll bet there are, yer know. By, won’t we be grand! Happen there’ll be a lotta things we’ll find different – like proper hankies instead o’ these scraps o’ rags.’ She wiped her nose and wriggled her stockinged toes in eagerness. ‘Oh, I can hardly wait to see inside.’
He smiled indulgently. ‘An’ I can’t wait to see ye invested as mistress, God love ye, ye deserve it.’ He crumpled the newspaper into an untidy heap and stood up to reach his pipe from the rack on the mantelshelf. ‘Lord, but I wish it were sorted out now, though. I’m bored stiff with no work to lay me hands to.’ Added to the bacon fat was now the smell of tobacco as he stoked his pipe. ‘Where’s her ladyship an’ the rapscallions? Did they not come in from Confession yet?’
‘Erin’s out in yard putting some newspaper in closet. Lads came in while you were doin’ that job for Miss P. then went straight out again. I think they’d been fightin’; Sonny’s face was like thunder. I gave ’em money for a haircut. Dickie said they were off down to tannery afterwards wi’ some rabbit skins. He’s becoming a dab hand at catchin’ bunnies is our Dickie – an’ we both know where he got that from.’
They smiled fondly at each other. Dear, crafty John – dead many a year now but his questionable skills handed down to their sons. Patrick puffed on his pipe and made to sit down when a movement in the yard caught his eye. An annoyed scowl took over his face. He strode quickly through the scullery and into the yard. His daughter, who had been chatting to someone over the wall, turned swiftly at his angry instruction.
‘Erin, go into the house at once! And you!’ The person with whom Erin had been conversing bobbed hastily behind the wall. ‘Stay away from my daughter – unless ye want to know what a broken neck feels like!’ He stormed back into the house and slammed the door. Erin had flown upstairs to her room. ‘Erin, come down here this instant!’ he bellowed.
‘What’s all racket about^7^’ demanded Thomasin, placing a strip of paper in the book to mark her place.
‘’Tis that lecher from next door!’ Patrick informed her noisily.
‘’I don’t think Miss Peabody would appreciate being called a lecher.’
‘Less o’ your sarcasm, woman! Ye know very well who I mean – that tousle-haired no-good lout from the other side. He’s been payin’ too much attention to our Erin of late.’
‘Gregory?’ said Thomasin amazedly. ‘He’s nobbut fifteen. Besides, he’s no lout, he’s a respectable young lad. And apart from anything else, I don’t think that was any way to talk to a young boy – you’ll have his mother on to me.’
The temper which Patrick had been so successful in curbing still flared occasionally. ‘Fifteen or no, I don’t like him pestering my daughter. Erin, come down here now!’
‘Nay,’ scoffed his wife. ‘There’s nowt goin’ on there. Our Erin’d run a mile if she thought that. Yer know how shy of men she is. She looks on Gregory as a bairn, like her brothers. An’ will yer please stop shoutin’ at poor lass to come down. She’ll not come; she can be as stubborn as her father when she’s a mind. Anyroad, yer’ve embarrassed her.’
‘Me, embarrassed her? Better that than some young buck takin’ advantage of her.’
‘Now yer being silly,’ reproved his wife. ‘Sit down.’
‘Oh, ’tis you who’re giving the orders now, is it^7^’
‘Way I look at it, t’one who gives the orders should be t’one wi’ sense – an’ you’re showing precious little o’ that. Leave the lass alone, will yer? God help her if yer gonna go on like this every time a young man talks to her. She’ll never get wed.’
‘Are ye trying to marry her off an’ her little more than a child?’
‘Nonsense! She’s twenty. There’s many a girl got three bairns by the time they’re her age.’
‘That’s exactly my point, Tommy,’ he said emphatically. ‘These young rakes they have no intention of marriage. All right ye can laugh, but I’ve seen the way they look at her. I was that age once. I know what’s going through their minds.’
‘Then that doesn’t speak very well for you, does it?’ she replied. ‘Now, d’yer think I could continue wi’ me book?’ An hour of calm followed with the two sat contentedly reading, one on either side of the black-leaded range like a couple of Toby jugs. When the last ray of sun had dwindled over the roof of the privy a subdued Erin finally came down to join them. No mention was made of the earlier disturbance.
Thomasin stretched and yawned noisily, then placed her book on the table. ‘I suppose I’d better start makin’ cocoa.’ She pushed herself up from the chair. ‘By, it’s gerrin dark. I wonder what them lads are up to.’
Her query was to be answered shortly by the sound of the front door opening and her sons making their boisterous entrance. ‘Talk of the Devil,’ started Thomasin, then placed her hands on her hips, her eyes suspicious slits. ‘You’ve been drinkin’, I can smell it wi’ me eyes shut.’
‘Ah, Mother dear!’ Dickie, his eyes like glittering zircons with the effects of the liquor, draped his arm across her shoulders. ‘’Twas a terrible funny thing, was it not, Son? We were just walkin’ past The Spread Eagle, mindin’ our own business, when this great hand reaches out an’ grabs Sonny by the collar an’ starts to pull him into the pub. Try as he might he couldn’t escape the pull of it He was dragged kickin’ an’ screamin’ right into that tavern an’ the door bolted fast behind him.’
‘An’ I suppose you were fastened in as well, were yer?’ said his mother.
‘Well, I couldn’t see him in such a stew, could I? I mean, he is me brother. I had to go in an’ rescue him. My, we had the very devil of a time gettin’ outta that place, didn’t we, Son? Still, we’re home safe an’ sound ye’ll be glad to see an’ no harm done.’ He kissed her. ‘What’s for sup?’
She pushed him away. ‘Tongue – the edge of mine if yer gimme any more o’ that flim-flam. Eh, yer want puttin’ in a bag an’ shakin’ up. I reckon we wouldn’t’ve seen hide nor hair of yer if you hadn’t been hungry.’
‘Ah, that’s not strickly true,’ corrected Dickie, ignoring his father’s darkening face, feeling bold and warm. He could twist them all round his little finger. Sonny had been absolutely furious when he had returned from Confession, especially when Dickie had told him what he had missed, but a quick dose of his brother’s magic had cured Sonny; they were the best of friends again now. And Mam, underneath that expression, was not really mad at him. ‘We were ready to come home anyway, an�
�� ye can thank the Bible-thumpers for that. Gob! Why can’t they leave a fella alone? Going on about the virtues o’ temperance – ’tis enough to drive a man to drink.’ He yelped as Patrick, with two quick strides, dealt him a stinging blow to the ear.
‘What was that for?’
Patrick gave him another to match at the other side. ‘That one was for daring to question my authority, an’ if ye want to know what the original one was for I’ll tell ye. When I came to this country those Bible-thumpers as you so disrespectfully call them were the only ones to help me. They housed me an’ fed me, while others in this city would’ve seen the lot of us cast out to die. So don’t let me hear ye speaking so scornfully about them again. The Quakers are good people an’ if it weren’t for them you wouldn’t be here to malign them.’ He relit his pipe and spoke through the cloud of sweet-smelling tobacco. ‘Apart from all that, I don’t care for my sons making a habit of frequenting such places. You’re far too young to be wastin’ your lives like that – ye coulda been out doin’ something more constructive. An’ another thing, your mother tells me she gave ye both the price of a haircut before ye went out. Was the barber unavailable or has he taken to cutting it with his teeth?’ He surveyed the raggy ends where his sons had attempted to cut each other’s hair using a knife. ‘There’s no need for me to ask where ye got your ale money from, is there?’
Dickie scowled. ‘Sure, you’re always slapping us down, isn’t he, Son? Treatin’ us like bairns an’ us almost men.’ Sonny hung his head and swayed.
This remark seemed to alter Patrick’s whole oudook on the matter. His tone brightened considerably as if nothing untoward had gone before. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. ‘Why, God love us an’ save us. The man can’t see what’s under his very nose. ’Tis right you are, son, I’ve been treatin’ ye both like weans for too long, ’tis time I saw ye for the men you are. Well now, why don’t we three sit down an’ have ourselves a little parley, man to man like.’
The youngsters grinned inanely at each other and sat at the table expectantly as Patrick ordered his wife to bring forth a jug of poteen. Some years ago he had installed his own private still in a large cupboard off the scullery, but this was the first time he had shared his illicit brew with his sons. They watched as he selected a couple of pipes from the rack and tossed them and his tobacco pouch onto the table. ‘Will ye take a pipeful with me, lads? All men together, right?’ His sons reached eagerly for the pipes, plugging the patterned bowls with tobacco.
‘Didn’t I tell ye it’d be all right?’ slurred Dickie to his brother as Thomasin dubiously placed the jug of poteen on the table and her husband poured three glasses. ‘Sonny was thinkin’ maybe we’d be in for a roastin’, but I told him, “Dad’s all right – he understands that a man needs a drink from time to time to soothe all the troubles o’ this world.” Am I right?’
‘Oh, that you are. There’s nothing I like better,’ said Patrick levelly, then indicated the glasses. ‘An’ now ye can take that drink with your father.’
Dickie tapped the glass against Patrick’s then disposed of its contents, thinking smugly what a dummy his father could be at times, so malleable. Most fathers would have given them a beating for their misdemeanour and here was theirs plying them with drink. Only Thomasin saw the dangerous glint in Patrick’s eye. She passed a mug of cocoa to Erin who wished everyone a goodnight and carried the mug up to her room. Thomasin sat back in the chair to watch her husband’s performance. A silverfish scuttled from under the fender and ran over her foot; she did not notice.
‘Another, boys?’ Patrick grasped the handle of the earthenware jug and refilled their glasses, ever watchful. His sons knocked back the poteen as though it were water.
The hour grew late and the level of the jug grew lower. Patrick tilted it towards him to examine the contents. ‘Looks like we’ll be needing a refill, Mother. Would ye do the honours?’
Thomasin rose and carried her empty cup to the scullery, muttering in passing, ‘I don’t know what game you’re at, but I’ll not be party to encouraging those lads to become drunkards. If yer want a refill yer can get it yerself.’
‘Ah, women,’ sighed Patrick, pushing himself up from his seat at the table. ‘’Tis nothing but trouble they are. I ask ye, what’s the use o’ keepin’ a dog an’ barking yourself?’ He followed her into the scullery, winked at her frown, then returned with another jug.
Sonny was making his third attempt to rise from his chair. ‘If ye’ll excuse me, Dad, I think I’d rather go to bed.’
‘Ye’ll surely not be deserting your father?’ Patrick pressed him back into the chair. ‘Not when we’re having such a good time.’
Sonny turned bleary eyes on his brother who was beginning to look rather pale. Their father pushed the tobacco pouch at them. ‘Come on, fill up your pipes. I’m feeling generous the day. ’Tis a great experience when a father discovers his sons have become men.’ He waved away their pleas of tiredness. ‘Away with ye! The night’s still young, an’ ye’ll not leave a man to finish the jug on his own.’ He filled their glasses to the brim. ‘Come on, sup up, as your mother would say.’
Thomasin made a face as she took the breakfast pots from the cupboard.
‘I just hope you aren’t gonna be clutterin’ up that table all night, ’cause I want to set it for mornin’.’
‘Plenty of time. There’s no work for me to go to so I might as well enjoy meself,’ said Patrick calmly, then to his sons: ‘What’s the matter with ye? Ye’ve not touched your drinks.’
‘I don’t think I can drink any more,’ replied his elder son thickly, his pipe resting on the table.
‘Hey, that’s good baccy you’re wasting!’ Patrick tugged the pipe from Dickie’s fingers and pressed it to his son’s mouth. Looking decidedly bilious Dickie slowly took the pipe between his lips and made a token puff.
‘It’s gone out,’ declared his father and leapt up to light a taper from the dying coals. ‘There! Take nice big puffs an’ ye’ll soon get it started again.’ He kept the flame at Dickie’s pipe. ‘Ah no, you’re acting like Soft Mick. Big puffs, I said. Come on, let’s see that baccy glow. Suck, boy, suck!’
Dickie’s face took on the colour of the green tablecloth as the clouds of tobacco-smoke enveloped it. His brother, too, was looking extremely unwell as his father forced another glass of poteen upon him. ‘C’mon now, a toast,’ decided Patrick, holding his glass at arm’s length. ‘To your mother, the finest woman on two legs.’
Thomasin, purse-lipped, pushed him aside in order to set the table for morning. ‘I hope ’tis something substantial you’re going to be feeding us, me darlin’,’ he told her. ‘For ’tis three men ye’ve got on your hands now. Aye, they’re not boys any more, look at them. They really know how to hold their drink. What’s it to be then, Tommy? Three plates full o’ bacon an’ eggs? Something nice an’ greasy to line the stomach, an’ the eggs all runny as I like ’em. Three apiece, an’ I think I’ll have six rashers o’ nice fatty bacon, with plenty o’ greasy dip.’ He leaned towards the boys. ‘Sure, I like the way the plate looks just before ye mop it up with a big wad of bread; all mixed with egg yolk an’ black juice from the mushrooms an’ lovely greasy fat, don’t you, boys? An’ then we’ll have a gallon o’ tea to wash it down with. Gob!’ He smacked his lips. ‘I can almost feel my belly full to bursting with it, slopping around with all that tea …’ His voice petered out as his sons charged from the table, through the scullery and into the yard, both with hands clapped across their mouths.
Patrick grinned at his wife as he replaced the bung in the jug and gave it a triumphant slap with the heel of his palm. ‘That took a little longer than I anticipated. I was in danger o’ becoming slewed meself.’ He forced his grin into a frown as his sons staggered back into the house clutching their aching stomachs. ‘Men, ye say? Hah!’ He prodded Dickie’s shoulder with his finger. ‘Ye’ll need a few more years on your back before ye can call yourself anything resembling a m
an, me boyo. It takes more than a few jars of ale to make a man.’ He shook the jug under their noses so that the liquid slopped about inside it. ‘Fancy another before I put it away? No? Then ye’d best be off to beddy-byes.’ They stumbled groggily to the stairs, then turned at his shout of: ‘Here!’ He emerged from the scuUery bearing a bucket. ‘Ye’ll most probably be needing this through the night. Anyone who isn’t quick enough to use it gets a hiding; ye’ll not make any extra work for your mother.’
‘That was a bit drastic, wasn’t it?’ observed Thomasin when her sons had staggered up to their bed.
‘It was. They’ve used almost a week’s supply o’ baccy between them. Can ye lend me a few bob for some more?’ He jumped out of the way as she made to cuff him. ‘Ah, I’m taking your meaning sure enough, but it worked did it not? I doubt they’ll be able to even walk past a pub for a long time without that old heave-ho feeling. I’ve nothing against a man taking a drink – sure I like a drop meself – but they’ve got to learn how to moderate the bending of their elbow. If I’d said nothing they’d’ve thought I condoned their behaviour, an’ I don’t. No son of mine is going to grow up a drunkard.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Oh, isn’t it lovely!’ Thomasin clapped her hands together as she stood in the hall of her new home, eyeing it with near disbelief, the unexpected grandeur of it robbing her of a more laudatory comment. This evening the solicitor’s clerk had delivered the keys of Mr Penny’s house and the moment the family had eaten Thomasin had whisked them off to see it.
‘Well, if tha’d let us in happen we’d all be able to say that,’ complained William Fenton, her father who, along with his wife, had been invited to share the unveiling ceremony but was still confined to the doorway.
Thomasin hastily moved aside to allow them entry then whirled back to appraise her surroundings, eyes bright with anticipation. ‘Well, what d’yer think?’ she pressed everyone. ‘Isn’t it absolutely grand?’
For My Brother’s Sins Page 14