For My Brother’s Sins

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

Finally, amid a great burst of clapping the dance broke up and everyone wandered off to a quiet corner with their chosen beau.

  ‘Well, shall we be privileged to hear these unsung talents, Erin?’ panted Stephen as they sat together on the sofa. ‘Have I not paid for the honour? Wearing my fingers to the bone at that infernal piano when I would much rather have been dancing with you.’

  She laughed, her eyes sparkling. ‘The moment I recover I’ll fetch it – but don’t say you haven’t been warned. Parties are supposed to be gay affairs, ye don’t really want to see everyone cryin’ do ye –as Father would have ye believe my music has the power to do.’

  ‘If your music is as beautiful as you then it will have the power to move mountains,’ replied Stephen, his face – such a kind face, thought Erin – moving close to hers. ‘I must tell you that you are the loveliest girl I have had the honour to partner.’

  Inexplicably, Erin felt claustrophobic at his proximity and jumped from her seat. ‘Listen, why don’t you take a stroll on the terrace to cool off while I fetch my harp?’

  Stephen regarded her with a bemused smile, then stood up to join her, flicking back the tails of his coat. ‘Topping idea – if you will come and keep me company.’

  ‘I can’t keep you company and fetch my harp,’ laughed Erin. ‘You must make up your mind which takes precedence.’

  The decision was made for him by calls from the other guests, asking when they were going to hear this harp of Erin’s.

  ‘It looks as if you’ll have to do without my company for the moment,’ she smiled.

  ‘Alas! the maid deserts me,’ cried Stephen, woebegone. ‘Very well, I shall take with me a glass of that extraordinarily fine punch to drown my heartache.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’ll have to ask Mother for some more,’ said Erin examining the crystal bowl. ‘’Tis almost empty. You wait on the terrace; I’ll bring it out to you.’

  ‘Very well.’ He made for the open door. ‘But don’t leave me alone for too long or I shall pine completely away.’ Erin looked fondly after him for a moment, then went to find Thomasin to ask for more punch.

  Thomasin told her there was more in the kitchen. ‘Go tell Amy to fetch it in for you.’

  Erin was about to go straight back out, when on impulse she turned to embrace them both with a radiant smile. ‘Thank ye, both of ye, for this lovely birthday. I can’t ever remember enjoying one so much.’

  ‘I don’t think that has so much to do with us as of the exuberance of your guests,’ replied Thomasin, reflecting her happiness. ‘Mr Hartas especially.’

  ‘Yes, he is wonderful, isn’t he?’ agreed Erin. ‘I’ll wager he’s the life an’ soul o’ the party wherever he goes. Now, I must get back; I promised to play for him.’

  Play for him, thought Thomasin with satisfaction – not the others, only him. Well, things had worked out a little better this time, hadn’t they?

  ‘You run along an’ enjoy yourself,’ said her father. ‘An’ mind, not too much punch.’

  Erin collected the harp and left it in the hall until she was ready to play. When Amy brought in the fresh bowl of punch she filled two cups and wandered out onto the terrace. The garden was in darkness but the light from the house sprayed out over the crazy-paving merging into soft shadows at the outer edges where the terrace met a high laurel hedge. A cool breeze plucked at the lace on her bodice, lifting it to brush against the hollow of her neck. She shivered, raising a crop of goosebumps, and searched the terrace with her eyes, a cup in each hand. She smiled suddenly as Alex’s broad tones bit into the silence of the garden, and made towards the laurel hedge from whence the voice came.

  ‘I’d fancy a crack at her myself if I hadn’t been landed with Sophie. She’s a real spanker, isn’t she? No wonder you agreed to come, crafty devil!’

  Erin’s flesh tingled with pleasure at Stephen’s reply, ‘She’s a looker all right,’ and paused before rounding the hedge so that she might hear more compliments.

  Stephen added to his comment. ‘It’s a damn shame I’m not allowed to handle the goods – not that I’d get very far, she’s as timid as a fawn. These Irish girls are all the same they tell me – model themselves on the Virgin Mary. Even if they were willing the fathers see to it that no one gets within ten feet of them. Beat the stuffing out of you if you so much as blow them a kiss. That’s why I was surprised to be given so much leeway tonight.’

  ‘Yes, Feeney presented himself as a pretty likeable sort of fellow,’ returned Alex. Erin’s blood had began to congeal in her veins. ‘Not what I expected at all after the lecture I got from Mama.’ He put on a feminine squeak, imitating his mother. ‘Be most vigilant, Alexander, in your deportment. They may be a wild lot.’ He laughed. ‘I think she visualises me going home with a broken head. She’ll be at the front door waiting with the bandages and liniment.’

  Stephen shared his merriment. ‘My parents are exactly the same. Bloody bigots. Did you hear about old King? Thought Feeney was the gardener and tipped him sixpence; bumbling old ass!’

  ‘Who hasn’t heard?’ replied Alex amusedly. ‘Still, one can see where he made his error. If Feeney had been dressed in the old togs that Walter described I’m sure I would’ve made the same mistake, what with his begobs and begorrahs.’

  ‘He never said that!’ reproved Stephen laughingly.

  ‘Did he not? Well, I couldn’t grasp half of what he said – proper bog-trotter isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, I thought the chap was quite approachable,’ defended Stephen.

  ‘For a Fenian,’ prompted Alex and burst out laughing again.

  Stephen sucked in his breath. ‘Poor old Kingy! What a blunder.’ He lit a cigar, the smoke reached Erin as she stood there, paralysed with disbelief, the glasses of punch still clutched in her hands. ‘You ought to have heard him going on to Pa about his darling boy’s narrow escape.’

  ‘Yes, I know, that’s what I find so dashed amazing,’ frowned Alex. ‘Why, if our parents knew the purpose of this party, did they allow us to come?’

  ‘It’s not so amazing when you know the answer,’ said Stephen, savouring the cigar.

  ‘Well, if you know would you be so kind as to share it with me? I must say after the speech I received from Mama on the dangers of entering a Fenian stronghold I was taken aback when she and Father gave their permission for me to come.’

  ‘Simple,’ replied Stephen, blowing smoke-rings. ‘Mrs Feeney is one of our best customers. Pater didn’t want to offend her by turning down the invitation and advised all his contacts to follow his lead if they valued their client. Besides, what was the point of ruining a perfectly good business relationship? Just because we accepted the invitation doesn’t mean that any of us are going to have to marry her.’

  Erin gripped the cups so tightly that the crystal cut into her flesh. How could she? How could Mam disgrace me so?

  ‘Naturally,’ proceeded Stephen, ‘I had to swear to a list of dos and don’ts before they’d let me out of the house. Number one – be politeness itself, do your utmost to cultivate good relations with our patron. Number two – lavish as much attention on the daughter as you feel able, but – Number three – on no account make any promises of betrothal.’

  ‘So that was the reason for your little warning before we arrived?’ breathed Alex. ‘All that about being nice to her and making her feel one of us.’

  ‘Well, someone had to make the effort, didn’t they?’ said Stephen. ‘Poor girl, it would’ve been one hell of a birthday party if we’d all ignored her. And I didn’t do it just because I was told to – I really like Erin. My only fear is that I may have overdone things. I should hate her to be fond of me and have to be told there’s no hope whatsoever of our getting together. Damn shame, isn’t it? She’s such a beautiful girl. I could very easily have become attached to her. And her parents are jolly decent, too. It’s all so damned hypocritical of Father; I wonder he can face Mrs Feeney thinking as he does of her husband.’ He dropped his cigar butt and ground it w
ith his heel. ‘It’s getting pretty cool out here, Alex old chap – d’you think we’d better go back in? I wonder where Erin’s got to. She went off to find some more punch and to fetch her harp, been an awful long time. Come on, we don’t want to miss the recital.’

  Erin, physically sick with the shame of it, pressed herself into the shadow of the hedge as they came around it and crossed the terrace. She watched them enter, but did not move herself. Oh, Mam how could you? She bit her lip hard to stop the tears, then slowly traced Stephen and Alex’s steps, still clutching the cups of punch. When the light from the interior hit her she stopped and watched them all laughing amongst themselves. Oh Blessed Virgin! They must all know in there. If Stephen was aware of it then they all were. Erin, it seemed, was the only one who hadn’t known that her mother had arranged this party to find her a husband. But the people in there wouldn’t believe that – they would think that Erin was part of the conspiracy. Oh, how humiliating! And she had to go in there and face them. No, she didn’t, she could slip away now – no one knew where she was. Let Mam sort out the mess that she had created. She hurriedly turned to face the garden.

  ‘Erin! I’ve been searching all over for you.’ Stephen caught sight of her and came to relieve her of one of the glasses. ‘Oh look, your hand is bleeding! Where on earth have you been hiding yourself?’ He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to dab at the wounded finger with one hand, balancing the punch in his other.

  ‘I’ve been out here … by the laurel bush,’ said Erin, levelling her eyes to his.

  There was the slightest check in his movements, but he continued to wrap the handkerchief around her bleeding finger. This done, he swapped his cup of punch into his right hand and put it to his lips. ‘Mm, delicious! You should be more careful; we can’t have you going wounded when you promised to give us a recital.’ But she could tell by the way his eyes refused to meet hers again that he knew she had overheard.

  Erin, in spite of her misery and the cut finger, kept her promise and brought the harp in to a spatter of polite applause. As Patrick had said, her music had the power to reduce people to tears, but in his fatherly pride he had forgotten that the Celtic souls who comprised her normal audience were tonight replaced by less emotional ones. When the music died away the only tears in the room belonged to Erin – and she alone knew that the haunting lament had nothing to do with them.

  When Patrick softly enquired why his daughter’s spirits were so low after such a good party, Erin did not immediately give the whole reason, knowing it would cut him as deeply as it had her. What made it worse was that Stephen’s had not been the usual form of bigotry to which they were subjected. He had simply been nice because he felt sorry for the Feeneys, which in its way was as gross an insult as his elders’ insularity.

  But instead of burdening Patrick with this, she rounded on him. ‘You want to know the reason I’m fed up? I’ll tell ye; ’tis all this matchmaking o’ Mother’s – don’t make out ye don’t know what I’m talking about! You’re in on it too, aren’t ye? These “surprise” visits an’ parties. I’m not daft, I can see what’s going on.’

  Patrick owned up to a small part in the plot. ‘But I wasn’t totally behind your mother’s scheme.’

  ‘No, because you don’t want to see me married at all!’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Oh, so that’s why ye keep sending all my admirers away, is it?’ She caught his guilty look. ‘Well, ye surely didn’t think I was unaware of it. God! the bloody embarrassment it’s caused me.’

  ‘Hey now,’ he wagged a finger, ‘don’t swear at your father.’

  ‘Dammit, Father!’ cried Erin, ignoring his outraged look. ‘I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-three years old, old enough to decide what is good for me an’ what isn’t. Ye seem to think we’re still babies, all of us. Haven’t I heard the way ye talk to my brothers.’ – And if you could hear the things Dickie comes out with when he thinks no one’s listening you’d not mistake him for any baby, she thought cynically.

  ‘Erin, chi… all right! All right.’ He held up his hands in despair. ‘I take your point. ’Tis only a manner o’ speech ye know, I can see very well you’re a woman.’ He wanted to go to her and fold her in his arms, but her rising temper dissuaded him. ‘Erin, can’t ye see we love ye an’ we only want ye to be happy. That’s the reason I sent those young fellas away. I didn’t think they were good enough for ye. That’s why your mother’s been arranging these little meetings, so’s we could introduce ye to a more respectable class o’ boy.’

  The change of expression that followed that remark was ever so slight but he noticed before she turned her back. He came to stand behind her and, putting his hands on her narrow shoulders, touched his lips to her hair. ‘You’re not tellin’ me everything are ye, darlin’? It isn’t just your meddling old parents that’ve got ye this mad. I wasn’t drunk at that party, I didn’t imagine the effect young Stephen had on ye. What happened to take the smile off your face?’ His voice became hard. ‘He didn’t… ?’

  ‘No, no.’ Still with her back to him she covered the large hands on her shoulders with her own dainty ones and leaned back against the comforting hardness. ‘It was nothing like that. ’Tis not important any more.’

  ‘If ’twas important enough to dim your smile ’tis important enough to share with your father. What’s wrong?’ She remained silent. He rotated her gently by the shoulders so that she faced him. ‘What happened at that party?’

  Erin lifted her eyes to that strong, honest face and after a pause asked, ‘What is it about us that they find so loathsome, Daddy?’

  He released his breath. ‘Ah, so that’s it,’ then gazed down at her sorrowfully. Instead of an answer he murmured, ‘God, you’re so much like your mother.’ A faraway look smoothed away the lines of anger. ‘Your eyes especially – like two puddles out o’ Lough Conn, I always used to say to her. I remember as clear as anything the day we came here, your mother an’ me. She was barely sixteen and oh, so beautiful. I think ’twas herself that kept me going through the Hunger – that, an’ knowing she was carrying you. If I’d known what she would’ve had to suffer in this Godforsaken country I’d rather have stayed to die with the rest. Ye can’t begin to imagine what it was like, comin’ from that wondrous land into the squalor of Walmgate. Ye can’t imagine it ’cause you’d known no different; you were born among all that dirt an’ disease.

  Jaze! I often think ’tis a miracle ye survived all that … your poor mother didn’t.’ He stroked Erin’s face and stared at it, but his daughter knew it was his dead wife he was seeing. He smiled. ‘We made plans, ye know. We were only gonna stay here as long as the famine lasted an’ then we’d go back. That’s what kept her alive for so long: knowing this degradation and all the insults that went with it weren’t going to last and one day we’d go home. Even now, ye know, even though I’ve been here more’n twenty years I still don’t look upon it as home.’

  ‘Why did ye never fulfil your plans if it was so bad?’ asked Erin, breaking his concentration.

  He sighed and rubbed his bristly cheek against her head. ‘I did consider the idea when your mother passed on, God rest her. When I recovered from the shock I started savin’ up with that aim in mind. But then o’ course I met Tommy an’ the idea o’ going home didn’t seem so appealing any more.’

  ‘D’ye love Mam more than ye loved my real mother?’ asked Erin shyly.

  He started. ‘Now there’s an odd sort o’ question. Not more, no … in a different way, certainly. Your mother was nothing like Tommy. She was fragile, soft an’ gentle. Where Tommy would take a shillelagh to me sometimes if she could lay her hand to one, Mary would never’ve dreamed of arguing. And she’d never see wrong in a person, only the good things; she often got taken in. I loved her very much, Erin.’

  ‘So did I,’ whispered his daughter, face resting on the serge of his jacket, inhaling the impregnations of tobacco and that special father-smell. ‘I didn’t ever think that I
’d come to love Thomasin … but I do.’ She raised a serious face. ‘I only wish she’d stop all this meddling in my life. She’s changed since she got the money. It’s as if she wants to run everyone’s lives to fit in with hers. Don’t you feel iff’

  Patrick was unwilling to voice his agreement, though he knew Erin was right. Thomasin would never have made mistakes like those of the past few weeks in the old days.

  ‘She can’t be blamed for what happened at the party, Erin,’ he said charitably. ‘She hand-picked those people in good faith. See, your mam, not being Irish, doesn’t pick up the signs as quickly as we do – though I have to say that young Stephen had me fooled, too. I didn’t take him for a bigot.’

  ‘He wouldn’t see himself as one either,’ replied Erin. ‘Nor would any of the others. But for all their affability they still look upon us as a different race, not British like them.’

  ‘We are a different race,’ said her father.

  She chanced a risky question. ‘Did ye ever wish ye weren’t, Father? I mean, doesn’t all this ever make ye more determined to go back where ye belong? Don’t ye ever wonder what sort o’ life ye’d’ve had if ye’d stayed in Ireland?’

  He thought for a while, then answered, ‘Life comes as God sends it to us, Erin. Oh! if ye could’ve seen the sufferin’ that went on in those famine days ye’d not wonder why I stayed to weather all the insults. But still, I don’t regret one drop o’ my Irish blood.’

  ‘Ye make me feel ashamed to have asked at all. I’m proud o’ my birth too, an’ I shall make sure my children are aware of their heritage. And that,’ she said with a little smile, ‘brings us back to my original protest. Please, please can’t ye stop Mother’s games?’

  ‘She just wants ye to be happy,’ said Patrick sadly.

  ‘I’d be happier left alone,’ replied his daughter firmly. ‘I’m shy, Daddy, but if the right man comes along I won’t need Mam or you to tell me, I’ll know for myself.’ She summoned another smile. ‘Don’t ye know I’m waiting for someone who’s just like my dear father?’