For My Brother’s Sins

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

  ‘Ye’ll definitely die a spinster then,’ chuckled Patrick. ‘This one’s unique.’

  She kissed and hugged him fondly. ‘I know that Daddy, an’ I love ye dearly – but the same goes for you too – stop interfering!’

  He pulled away, smiling. ‘All right, muirnin, ye’ve made it plain how ye feel. I swear on the name of every saint that I won’t meddle any more.’

  ‘An’ ye’ll speak to Mother?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll make sure she brings home no more waifs an’ strays.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam Teale bellowed a hearty rendition of Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill as he manoeuvred a side of beef onto his able shoulder and transferred it from the slaughterhouse at the rear of the butchery into the shop itself. Sam was twenty-six years old, but appeared much younger with his cheeky grin and spiky blond hair. There was nothing muted about Sam’s features: his cheeks were like bright red apples and beneath the black brows that sprouted willy-nilly as though stuck on with glue, shone candid blue eyes. He also had healthy white teeth, due to an endless supply of raw carrots and apples. Coming from the countryside, such good food was easy come by.

  Sam had been at Mr Simons’ butchery shop in Goodramgate all his working life, first as an apprentice and now as a qualified butcher. During this time he had learnt how to get the minimum wastage when cutting joints, how to talk customers into buying a piece of meat that had been hanging there far too long, and had also learnt how to kill swiftly and cleanly – a less pleasant task but one which must be done and was better undertaken by someone with consideration for the condemned beast than some unfeeling lout.

  Grunting, he backed up against the row of hooks that gleamed from the tiled walls while Mr Simons slipped the hook into the dissected beast’s hamstring, thus relieving the pressure and allowing Sam to bounce off for another carcase. When each of the hooks, plus those outside, were occupied, Sam sloughed the perspiration from his brow and stepped outside to take a breather. It was a grand morning, though chilly. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the dewdrop from his nose, studying the overhanging roofs of the medieval buildings opposite. It was a wonder, thought Sam, that they didn’t fall down, the way they leaned at such a precarious angle over the footwalk. Unbelievable, really, that they were still standing at all after four or five hundred years. They must have been real builders in those days. Yet perhaps it was time they were pulled down to make way for something more modern, smarter. There was a plethora of such buildings in York and Sam considered this did nothing to enhance the mucky old place. Maybe this was unfair comment, for Sam was country down to his boots and would much rather be working on the land than in a sooty, noisy city. But his father had wanted him to have a trade and there wasn’t much in that line where Sam came from – save the smithy; there was only labouring work. So, his dad had made arrangements with Mr Simons for him to come here.

  Working so far frorn home meant that he had to lodge with Mr Simons and his good lady, and could only go home on a Sunday. But there you were, that was life, one seldom got what one wanted. One day, though, he mused, reaching under his apron to replace the rag in his pocket, one day he would have that rose-garlanded cottage filled with bonny kids and a wife who could cook like his mother. He would have some livestock too, though not to kill. No, he’d keep a cow for milk and some hens for eggs. Well now, perhaps he might have to have just one pig for meat; he was a bit partial to his pork chops was Sam. He’d grow fruit trees and his own vegetables so’s he wouldn’t have to rely on anyone but himself. And then … his fanciful wanderings stopped in midstream as his haphazard gaze came to rest on a young woman who was sweeping away dead leaves and rubbish from outside the grocery store not a stone’s throw away. Oh, my! what a little dream. With a smooth of his hair and a setting of his shoulders Sam made straight for her. But sadly, his intended approach came to a rude end as Mr Simons called from inside the shop, ‘Away, Sam you’ve had long enough!’

  Sam stood there for a few more seconds, hoping she’d look up and see him, but she seemed more concerned with her task. With one last hankering look he retreated into the butchery. How come he had never noticed her before? He must have something wrong with his eyesight – or else she was new to the grocery. A dazzling smile split his healthy face, drawing a questioning look from his employer, but Sam was too engrossed in his plans to notice. – Best get your best bib and tucker on tonight, Sam Teale, you’re going a-courting. Hold on, was she wearing a ring? He’d go buy something at the grocery first just to make sure that the ground was uncluttered. Wouldn’t do to go pestering a married woman. He’d go in his dinner hour. Roll on twelve o’clock!

  Came noon and Sam whipped off his blood-soaked apron, laying it over a chopping block.

  ‘By, you’re on the dot today,’ remarked his employer. Sam made no comment, other than to ask if Mrs Simons would mind if he went upstairs to wash his hands – the Simons lived over the store. ‘Washing your hands at dinner-time?’ said the butcher amazedly. ‘There must be a skirt involved somewhere. Eh, you young lads are all the same – it must be working with all this fresh meat.’ He was a good lad was Sam but he was a caution where the females were concerned. One of these days a customer would lean over the counter and bunch him one for the saucy things he said.

  Sam’s teeth flashed. ‘Aye, a right smasher. She works at Penny’s. I thought I’d go ask if I can walk her home this evening.’

  ‘I wondered how long it’d be before you set your eye on her.’

  ‘You mean you knew she was there?’ chided Sam. ‘An’ you never told me?’

  ‘I thought I’d try to protect her as long as I could,’ replied Mr Simons, grinning. ‘I might’ve known you’d sniff her out. Still, I have to agree with you – she is a stunner. Though I can’t see her falling for your saucy chat; she seems like a very nice girl to me.’

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Mr Simons, are you trying to blacken my character? I’ll have you know I’m a very nice boy.’

  ‘Some say.’

  Sam grinned and made for the door. ‘When I come back I’ll bet you a tanner I’ve been successful.’

  ‘Don’t waste your money lad, you’re onto a loser – they close for dinner.’

  Sam’s smile faded but he retained a note of optimism. ‘I might just catch her if I’m quick.’

  ‘Aye, well if you miss her I don’t expect you to be bringing a long face back with you this afternoon. I’m not having my customers suffering – and don’t be asking if you can slip out during working hours neither, you know my ruling on that.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Simons!’ Sam rushed from the shop.

  The butcher shook his head and chuckled, then drove a cleaver through the bloody joint on the block, severing bone and sinew in one clean swipe.

  Eagerly Sam dashed up to the grocery, his boots skidding on the pavement. This side of the street, untouched by sun, was still moist with frost. His expectant smile evaporated – the shop was closed as Mr Simons had foretold. After staring for a few baleful seconds at the door, Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched despondently round the corner to buy a pie for his dinner. How the hell was he going to meet her if her dinner-time coincided with his every day? The grocery would most likely be closed when he left work tonight as well. Disgrunded he bit into the pie, looked at it without relish, then held it out to a stray dog. He wondered again why he had never noticed her before. But one thing was certain; he was going to see her again.

  * * *

  The following day as Sam passed Penny’s in his dinner-hour he glanced casually towards the sign in the door, expecting it to say Closed. He was almost past the shop before the awareness hit him that it had not said Closed – but Open. Open! He swivelled in his tracks and, without thinking what he was going to purchase, went inside.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’ asked Thomasin.

  Sam’s expression of eager anticipation was replaced by one of dismay. He snapped his eyes away from her patient cordiality an
d rapidly flicked them over the shelves. ‘Er, I’ll have, er …’ What was the matter with him? Acting like a blithering idiot. Why didn’t he just ask where she was?

  Thomasin spotted his preoccupation. It was as if he were searching the shop for something other than groceries. Could it be Erin? She was about to speak, then hesitated. Erin had made it palpably clear that her stepmother’s interference would not be tolerated, and for the last four months Thomasin had managed to control her urges. But what a pity the girl was not present to see her pleasant-looking admirer – for Thomasin had satisfied herself that this was his status. However, she decided to mind her own business for once. ‘Have you made your choice?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Er, I’ll have some of that!’

  Thomasin took a scoop to weigh out the tea. It was quite obvious he was only making the purchase to gather time. ‘That’s best quality,’ she said kindly. ‘Rather pricey I’m afraid. Should I weigh you two ounces of this one?’ Inwardly she laughed at herself – what a saleswoman! Still, the poor lad didn’t look as though he had money to waste, and if he was interested in Erin it was best if he received encouragement from the girl’s mother.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’ll do fine.’ Sam rippled a pile of pennies through his fingers. Should I ask where she is? Oh, hell!

  Thomasin struck up a conversation while she weighed the tea, and in answer to his blurted query said that, yes, the grocery store usually did close for lunch but today she had introduced a new dinner-rota, thereby enabling the shop to remain open. Always eager to fillip sales she had questioned her lack of insight in closing the shop for the hour when most other assistants took their breaks.

  ‘Does that mean that you and the other young lady take it in turns to serve on, Mrs Penny?’

  Ah! So she had been right. Thomasin provided the correct surname – she really was going to have to do something about that name over the shop – then said, ‘My daughter serves occasionally but mostly she’s busy with the baking. She makes a cracking pie, does Erin.’ She concluded her statement with a laugh. ‘Oh, dear! Perhaps cracking is the wrong word.’

  He smiled thoughtfully. That was probably the reason he had not seen her before, if she had been hidden away in the back.

  ‘Yes, she’ll certainly make someone a good wife,’ went on Thomasin blithely. Sam loved her – that was another of his queries solved. She handed over his purchase and took the money. ‘Thank you, sir. My daughter will be taking charge of the store tomorrow at lunchtime. If you should need any help with your purchases I’m sure she’ll be only too pleased to assist. We do like to create a good customer relationship here, you know.’

  ‘I can see that, Mrs Feeney,’ he answered amiably, then his lips widened into the characteristic grin. ‘And I dare say there will be something I need tomorrow. I work nearby and your shop is handy. I’d’ve paid you a visit much sooner had I realised what you had in stock.’

  ‘Oh, then we’ll look forward to seeing quite a lot of you,’ smiled Thomasin, congratulating herself on her deft handling of the situation. No one could accuse her of matchmaking in this instance.

  And if that wasn’t an open invitation to court her daughter, thought Sam happily as he left, I don’t know what is.

  Next day Erin, unaware that her mother had been up to her tricks again, took control of the store while Thomasin slipped home for lunch. That was one of the beauties of living so close to the shop – one could go home to a real meal instead of relying on a snack. She seated herself behind the counter and nibbled from a handful of raisins, making mental calculations of the items which needed restocking.

  As usual, business was rarely slack and within seconds of her stepmother leaving two customers entered. The first of them, a young man with spiky yellow hair, said that he was in no hurry and the lady could take her turn first. The woman nodded graciously and handed over her order to Erin. Sam shuffled his feet, sighed and Um-ed and Ah-ed, pretending to search the shelves for his requirements, all the while making surreptitious glances at Erin. It had thrown him at first, the way she had plaited all that lovely hair and reduced it to a gleaming knob on the top of her head. But her face was even more exquisite than he remembered. His spirits began to flag. She’s too lovely, he thought sadly. She’ll never entertain a plain old hobnail like me. Yet, he argued with himself, you must have thought you had a chance else you wouldn’t’ve come in here. I wish I hadn’t, came the glum response. She’ll not have me, not in a million years. I’ll bet she’s been proposed to hundreds of times and turned them all down. She can afford to be choosey, looking like that.

  The woman departed and Sam was just summoning the courage to approach the counter when another customer foiled his plan. He backed away to resume his pretended search and to recoup his tactics. This was to happen so many times that Erin began to be suspicious, thinking he might be a thief. Sam too was becoming concerned. Looking at the clock beside the giant containers of treacle he found he had been there almost twenty minutes. He decided that there was only one way to achieve his objective. When the final customer had gone he stalked briskly to the door, rammed home the bolt and turned the sign to Closed. ‘Now don’t be alarmed, I’m not gonna hurt you,’ he reassured a panic-stricken Erin who had backed up to the wall as he approached, glad that the counter was between them.

  ‘What are you after?’ she stuttered, eyeing the long, sharp knife that Thomasin used to slice the ham. Could she grab it before he reached her?

  ‘Now don’t fret thisself! I just want to talk with you for five minutes, that’s all.’

  ‘Then why did ye lock the door?’ she demanded.

  Her tremulous sing-song voice touched Sam’s heart. She was absolutely terrified. He had better state his intentions immediately to show he meant no harm. ‘I wondered, would you do me the honour of allowing me to walk you out one evening?’

  ‘No!’ cried Erin, too hastily, then, frowning, ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if you’d honour me by walking out with me one evening?’ His fingers curled up to play with the frayed cuffs of his shirt.

  Her panic subsided but her defensive position did not. ‘Why?’

  Sam remained calm. ‘Well, why not?’

  ‘’Cause I don’t want to!’ snapped Erin mulishly. ‘Go find someone else.’

  The young man was extremely hurt. She was scowling as if he were some sort of monster. Surely he wasn’t that offensive? He had never had this response before. People usually took to Sam’s friendly nature. He could have understood it if he’d been familiar with her, but here he was employing his best manners, and they didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere. ‘Tell me why you won’t come out with me an’ I’ll leave you alone.’

  Erin’s face softened at his hurt expression, but her tone continued to be stubborn. ‘I’ve told ye, ’cause I don’t want to, that’s why. Now please open that door. Mother’ll be back soon. I shouldn’t cross her if I were you.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’ Sam could be obstinate too. ‘Is it because you think you’re too pretty to be seen with a clod-hopper like me?’

  Erin forced a high-pitched laugh. ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘Then why?’ He decreased the space between them.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer!’

  ‘For Heaven’s sake! What’re you so scared about?’ Sam stared at her trembling shoulders and dilated pupils.

  ‘You force your way in here and keep me prisoner an’ ye ask why I’m afraid!’ shrilled Erin. ‘Why, you could be a thief, a murderer – anybody.’

  ‘But I’m not anybody.’ His tangled brows puckered. ‘I’m Sam Teale.’

  ‘Well, ye never said, did ye?’ she accused hotly. ‘Anyhow, what difference does that make? How do I know Sam Teale’s not a murderer?’

  ‘Blimey! I’m beginning to wonder why I bothered,’ replied Sam shirtily.

  ‘Then why did ye?’ she retorted, regretting it instantly.

  ‘Because I thought what a beautiful young lady you were and h
ow much I’d like to get to know you. I never once thought I’d get a reception like this. Would you at least have the decency to tell me what it is you have against me before I go?’

  ‘I haven’t got anything against ye, I just don’t know ye, that’s all.’

  ‘An’ I don’t know you neither – you could leap on me when me back’s turned an’ throttle me.’ He clutched his hands to his throat and made strangulated noises, noting with satisfaction that he’d made her smile.

  Erin was starting to feel foolish. She was behaving like some adolescent instead of a woman of twenty-three. No wonder Father still treated her as an infant. ‘I’m sorry, ye must think me very stupid.’ Her eyes were lowered to the floor.

  ‘I don’t think you’re stupid at all,’ he said kindly. ‘If there’s anyone who’s stupid it’s me, barging in like that an’ frightening you half to death. You were right to challenge me. Why, I didn’t even give you a chance to tell me your name.’ Though he knew it from her mother it provided an opening in this cheerless dialogue. She blushingly told him. ‘Well, Miss Feeney, would it be in your power to wipe my slate clean and let me begin afresh? Might I even be allowed to call on you some time?’

  There was silence while Erin dwelled on his question. He did seem so very nice now that she had overcome her qualms. ‘When?’ she heard herself say.

  ‘Sunday?’ He had completely forgotten that he usually went home on his day of rest.

  ‘I go to church on Sunday.’

  ‘So do I, but it doesn’t take all day does it’’ Actually Sam didn’t often go to church; he preferred a lie-in.

  She hesitated a moment longer, then with a shy smile told him, ‘All right.’

  He was delighted. ‘Where shall we meet?’

  Erin pondered. ‘Come to the house.’ If nothing else, his visit would show Mother that she was capable of finding a man by her own efforts, and anyway, if Father thought she was meeting someone secretly he’d go mad. ‘Say, three o’clock?’