For My Brother’s Sins

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

  He suddenly remembered. ‘Could we perhaps make that four? I normally go to see my parents on Sunday. It might be a bit of a rush to get back for three.’

  ‘I’d hate to drag you away from your family if it’s the only day ye see them,’ said a concerned Erin.

  ‘Oh, no! They won’t mind. Will four be all right then?’

  She nodded and gave him her address.

  ‘Till Sunday then.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Oh, Lord! I’d better dash or I’ll be late back for work.’ He gave her a wide smile then spun round … straight into a display of tins. The pyramid tumbled. ‘Oh, blazes!’ he sighed in dismay.

  But Erin burst out laughing and coming round the counter told him to get back to his work, she would soon have them righted. Sam continued to fumble with the tins and she grabbed the one he was holding. ‘Sam, you’ll be late!’ One of her fingers touched his as she grasped the tin. Even Sam was unprepared for the shock of contact. Each drew their hand away quickly, then smiled. Erin, tin in hand, watched him go. He was really very nice.

  A breathless Sam arrived back at his place of work, hurriedly donning his cap and apron. His first words to his employer were about Erin. ‘You know,’ he mused, picking up a sharp knife, ‘I’m sure I’ve met her somewhere before, but I can’t for the life of me think where.’

  ‘I thought she had a face one couldn’t forget,’ teased Mr Simons.

  ‘Ah, she has that! No … it’s just summat about her that’s familiar; but if I have met her before it must’ve been a long time ago. Never mind,’ he slid his knife through flesh, ‘it’ll come to me.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Now I want none of your meddling, Mam,’ threatened Erin when she had broken the news to her surprised parents. ‘Mr Teale’s just a friend, that’s all. Don’t go putting any great meaning on this visit.’

  ‘Did I say a word? Did I, Father?’ Thomasin spread her hands at Patrick, but her husband was thinking too deeply to lend an ear. He began to fire question after question at Erin. Who was this young rake? How old was he? What was he doing sniffing round Patrick’s daughter behind a man’s back?

  ‘Well, I like that!’ said Erin. ‘You’ve certainly lost some of your understanding since last we spoke on it. And how can he be going behind your back if he’s calling at the house?’

  Patrick tried to subdue his parental concern. ‘I just want to make sure he’s right for ye, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, ye’ll be able to see that when he calls.’ Thomasin asked what time he was coming.

  ‘Four o’clock.’

  ‘Oh well, you must invite him to stay for tea.’ Before her stepdaughter could voice a warning she added, ‘Don’t worry I’ll not stick my oar in. I won’t even mention marriage. I should like to see what this young man’s like, though. He must be very special – privileged even – for our Erin to invite him home.’

  ‘He seems very pleasant and polite.’ Erin was giving nothing away – or so she thought. Her mother, though, could tell by the secret expression that these were not the only attributes he had. Erin obviously liked him a lot.

  After lunch, when she and Patrick were alone, Thomasin sought to add a few well-chosen words on the subject of Sam Teale. ‘Pat?’ He grunted from the sofa where he usually slept off his Sunday lunch. ‘Will you open your eyes? What I have to say is important and I can’t go on speaking to the wall.’ When he had complied she went on: ‘When he comes you will be nice to him, won’t you?’

  ‘Have I said otherwise?’ He closed his eyes again. ‘If that’s all I’ll get on with me nap.’

  ‘No, that’s not all! You’ve been crowing a bucketful about there not being any decent young men around for Erin to wed so now you’re going to meet one I hope you aren’t going to be laying down the law like you’re in the habit of doing.’

  ‘I’ll just want to make it clear that he’ll not be takin’ liberties with my daughter.’ ,

  ‘Happen he doesn’t want to. Happen he’ll have something more permanent on his mind. I won’t let you spoil her chances – and while we’re on about it, it’s a pity your fine sentiments don’t extend to your own sons. Oh, our Sonny’s fine,’ she said at his look of dismay, ‘but I’m beginning to get a bit concerned about the other one. He’s out till all hours up to Lord knows what … Think on that while you’re railing about lechers.’

  He relaxed and made his position more comfortable. ‘Dickie’s all right. A lad’s got to sow a few wild oats. He’ll settle down when he’s a little older.’

  ‘That’s exactly the attitude I’m referring to,’ she argued. ‘You’ve got double standards, Patrick. You say you’ll not have any lad taking liberties with your daughter, but you don’t condemn your own offspring for doing just that with other people’s daughters.’ He had the grace to look chastened. ‘Aye, that’s something else for you to chew on while you’re doing your bombasting this afternoon.’

  ‘Sure, I never said I wouldn’t give the lad a fair hearing, did I?’

  ‘Before throwing him out you mean? Well, Patrick Feeney, before he comes, which will be any time now, just cast your mind back eighteen years or so – if it’ll extend that far – to when a young Irish widower called to pay court on somebody’s daughter and found himself the target of a certain lady’s prejudice. Remember what it felt like to be an interloper, to sit there while my mother turned up her nose at your ideals and looked down on you because you weren’t what she had intended for her daughter.’

  ‘That’s entirely different an’ you know it,’ he contradicted. ‘Ye’ll not try to discredit me with your mother’s narrow-mindedness.’

  ‘It’s not so acute, I’ll grant you, but the hostility is there all the same. Think how that lad will feel knowing you don’t rate him good enough for your daughter.’

  ‘I didn’t say that at all.’ He swivelled his body into a sitting position.

  ‘Then just what are you saying, Patrick? I don’t think you even know yourself.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘All I’m sayin’ is I want to be sure of him before I let him loose on Erin.’

  ‘My, you make him sound like a tiger.’

  ‘An’ well he may be!’ Patrick sprang up and began to pace the room. ‘I ask ye, what do we know about him?’

  ‘We know his name, we know he’s keen on Erin …’

  ‘An’ that’s about all. We don’t know where he comes from, what his business is …’

  ‘I do,’ she replied smugly.

  ‘He’s another o’ yours?’ Patrick had stopped pacing. ‘Not exactly.’ She told him about Sam coming into her store. ‘There wasn’t much need for matchmaking, he was obviously interested enough as it was. He works a few doors away at Simons’ butchery. I spied on him when he left … nice young lad … So you see, he’s not entirely a stranger.’

  ‘But for God’s sake ’tis not much, is it? I mean, we don’t know what sort o’ family he comes from, what his beliefs are – I’ll wager he’s a Protestant not a good Catholic boy like I would’ve chosen for my daughter.’

  Here Thomasin gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh come on, Pat, talk sense! I seem to recall it was the “good Catholic boys” you turned away from our door! An’ come to that, there were a good many years when you yourself were far from being a “good Catholic boy”. The very mention of church set your teeth gnashing. You didn’t give a damn about the ones I invited here being Protestant, you’re simply nitpicking, trying to find an excuse not to like him because you can’t bear the thought that your little girl is going to leave you.’

  His anger was substituted by despair. ‘Can you, Tommy?’ he asked pitifully.

  She reached for his hand and rubbed her fingers along the calloused palm. ‘Of course I’m not saying I won’t miss her. But, Pat she’s got her own life to lead, you have to face up to that. Nothing will alter the fact that you’re her father. She won’t forget it simply because she’s found someone else to share her love with.’ She chuckled then. ‘Eh, just listen to me! E
rin’d kill me if she could hear me going on as if she’s getting wed tomorrow. But it’s silly to get worked up over it when she herself said he was only a friend.’

  ‘You don’t believe that though, do ye, Tommy?’ he asked softly.

  She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘No. I watched that lad’s face light up when he knew he was going to see her. I’ve seen that look too many times not to know it means more than friendship. I see it every time I look at thee.’ He smiled then and opened his arms, folding them around her. ‘You will be nice to him Pat, won’t you?’

  She twined her arms around those which imprisoned her. He kissed the top of her head. ‘For you, I will.’ Lifting one of his great hands from her waist he touched her hair. ‘Why, I do believe you’re going grey, Mrs Feeney.’

  She laughed and leaned her chin against his chest, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. ‘One more word on that score and you’ll find old-age taking a grip on you.’

  ‘Not on the Lord’s day,’ he reproved, then pushed her hand away. ‘Away with ye, woman! Erin’ll be down any moment, ye’d not have her witness her mother’s brazen ways?’

  ‘Naturally her father is blameless,’ scoffed Thomasin, at which point her elder son came in. ‘Oh, it must be nearly tea-time! So nice of you to drop in.’

  He flashed her a smile and settled himself into a chair.

  ‘And will you kindly take all that straw out of your hair. We have a guest coming.’

  ‘Who?’ He searched for the bits of straw.

  ‘A young man of Erin’s,’ his mother told him.

  ‘He must be hard-up.’

  ‘And I want no clever remarks like that, thank you very much! If you spoil this for her I’ll clip your earhole.’

  Erin entered then, wearing a deep-blue corduroy dress trimmed with lace and mother-of-pearl buttons. No sooner had she entered than the doorbell jangled. Her hand flew to her mouth, belying all her previous protestations that he was merely a friend. ‘Oh, he’s here! What will I say? What’ll I do?’

  ‘Do?’ laughed Thomasin, cuffing her son for his imitation of Erin’s flustered behaviour. ‘You do nowt, lass. Just sit there and look pretty for your beau. Come on now, relax. Listen, Amy’s letting him in.’

  There was the faint sound of mumbling from the hall, then Amy entered. ‘There’s a young fellow here askin’ to see Miss Erin, sir. I told him to go away but he says he’s expected.’

  Thomasin made a face of exasperation for her husband, then instructed the maid to show the visitor in. ‘I’m sorry for your reception, Mr Teale,’ she told Sam when he entered looking bemused. ‘The maid must’ve been a little mixed up. Do come and sit by the fire, you look positively nithered, lad. Oh, you’d better meet the rest of the family. As you’ll have gathered I’m Erin’s mother,’ she hoped he wouldn’t mention their previous meeting, ‘this is Mr Feeney, her father, her brother Dickie …’ Sam shook hands with both men. ‘My other son is away at college,’ Thomasin explained.

  ‘Sit down now, young fella,’ grunted Patrick and reached for a pipe from the rack on the mantel. He proffered a bowl of tobacco to Sam. ‘Would ye care for a pipeful, son?’ Erin smiled at her father and relaxed a little.

  ‘Thank you, sir, I don’t,’ said Sam, his cheeks glowing even redder than normal from the cold. He held his hands gratefully to the fire and gave an admiring smile to Erin who smiled back then lowered her eyes.

  Thomasin made a prompting motion with her mouth and her daughter stuttered, ‘My mother’d like you to stay to tea, Mr Teale – if ye’d honour us.’

  ‘I’d be delighted. Thank you very much. I must say you’re lookin’ very pretty today, Miss Feeney – not that you don’t always.’

  ‘Have ye known my daughter long, young fella?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘No, sir. Unfortunately we only met the other day. But with your permission I’d like to get to know her better.’ Again a smile was exchanged with Erin.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to get to know you a wee bit better, Mr Teale before we can grant our permission.’ A spark of something like jealousy had occurred at the shared smile. Thomasin was right. It was serious. ‘Anyway … will ye take a glass of sherry before we eat?’ It was said as Patrick applied a flame to his pipe. ‘Or, if your tastes are similar to mine, would ye prefer whiskey?’ He motioned his son to fetch the decanter and glasses.

  Sam looked awkward at having to refuse Patrick’s second offering of hospitality. ‘Well …’

  ‘I suppose ye don’t drink either,’ said Patrick almost accusingly.

  ‘As a matter of fact I don’t, sir,’ answered an embarrassed Sam. ‘At least not spirits.’ He stole another glimpse at Erin and flashed her an apologetic smile which she returned, making her father even more testy.

  Dickie shook his head at all the coy actions and poured himself and his father a drink. Patrick flicked the taper against the fire wall, dousing the flame. ‘Ye don’t drink an’ ye don’t smoke,’ he laid the taper on the mantel, ‘so your vices must lay in other directions, Mr Teale.’

  ‘Patrick!’ admonished his wife. ‘How can you be so rude? You make it sound like a sin to be clean-living.’ She gave her support to the young man. ‘I don’t blame you, Mr Teale. Sometimes I think this house smells like a taproom.’

  Sam smiled. He had liked Thomasin straight away. ‘That’s what my mother always says, Mrs Feeney. “I’m not havin’ my house smelling like a tavern,” she’ll say. “If you want to take up the Devil’s habits then you can do them elsewhere … ” ’ he finished lamely on encountering Patrick’s scowl.

  ‘She sounds a sensible woman, your mother, Mr Teale,’ nodded Thomasin. ‘I wish that sense would be more evident elsewhere.’ A scathing look for her husband.

  ‘Please Mrs Feeney – call me Samuel,’ requested the young man. Thomasin inclined her head.

  ‘I can’t abide bossy women meself,’ muttered Patrick, with a meaningful glare at his wife. He clamped his teeth around the pipestem, took the drink from Dickie and looked at Sam whose nose had started to rim with the warmth of the fire and who kept sniffing noisily. ‘Haven’t you got a handkerchief, young fella?’

  Oh, Father, Father! raged Erin. You promised!

  Sam reddened and fumbled in his pocket. ‘Sorry, sir. I’ve got a bit of a chill.’ He withdrew his best spotted handkerchief and trumpeted into it.

  ‘Seems to me ye’d’ve been better off stoppin’ at home instead o’ coming here an’ sprayin’ us with the stuff.’ Patrick was sorry as soon as he had said it for the look on Sam’s face was one of near-pain. He didn’t know what had got into himself.

  ‘Father!’ Erin finally put words to her outrage, along with her mother’s cry of admonishment. ‘There was no call for such rudeness.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Miss Feeney,’ Sam rose stiffly and shoved his handkerchief away. ‘I understand the reason for it; your father just doesn’t like me.’

  ‘I never said that,’ replied Patrick uncomfortably, pretending that his pipe had gone out and bending to light another taper. What on earth had possessed him to say such a rotten thing? The lad was pleasant enough.

  ‘You didn’t need to. I could see from the way you looked at me the minute I set foot in here. You think I’m not good enough for your daughter.’

  There! thought Thomasin angrily, I knew this would happen.

  ‘Think if you keep insulting me I’ll up and leave,’ went on Sam, ‘never bother you again. Well, you might be right about me not being good enough for your daughter, but you’re completely wrong if you imagine that insults will get rid of me, for the more I see of Erin the more I’m determined to see of her and I refuse to be deterred by your animosity. Oh, no! I shall see her whether you approve or not – she’s quite mature enough to make up her own mind. And while you’re busy despisin’ me an’ thinking I’m abnormal ’cause I don’t conform to your standards, here’s something else to think about: I’m a bloody Catholic an’ all! There, you can stick that in yer pipe with yer smel
ly old baccy.’ He stood as if to leave. Erin, panic-stricken, rose too. But before Sam could show if he really meant to leave, a sound made all of them revolve in wonder.

  It started as a low rumble and grew into a boom that almost rattled the china in the cabinet. Patrick, his eyes crinkled in mirth, was showing his teeth for the first time since Sam had entered.

  ‘I’m glad you find somethin’ to your likin’, sir,’ said Sam tartly. ‘Even if it is my discomfort.’

  ‘Ah, I’m sorry, me boyo!’ chuckled Patrick, the tears trickling from the outer corners of his eyes. He threw the pipe carelessly onto the mantel, speckling the marble with burnt tobacco. ‘I wasn’t laughin’ at your distress, or your show of spirit. Indeed I found the latter most heart-warming … ’twas just the bit about your faith that tickled me.’

  ‘If you’re goin’ to make Papist jokes, then …’

  ‘Sit down, boy! God, the man’s got a quicker temper than me own. I know all there is to know about Papist jokes, Samuel – haven’t I borne the brunt of them since I came to this country twenty odd years ago.’

  ‘You’re a Catholic yourself?’ Sam’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  ‘And proud of it.’

  Sam grinned embarrassedly. How could he have failed to notice the religious paintings and the plaster Madonna on the mantelshelf? Maybe because he only had eyes for Erin. ‘You must think me a right numskull. Even armed with the knowledge that you’re Irish I never stopped to consider that you might be Catholic too.’ He thought to add that religion wasn’t all that important to him, but as it obviously was to the Irishman he kept his mouth shut.

  ‘The same could be said o’ my attitude, son. Tell me, how come an English fella has the faith?’

  ‘Well, there are one or two of us about, Mr Feeney,’ said Sam amusedly. The Irishman’s animosity seemed to have gone.

  Patrick nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose there must be, the same as not all Irishmen are Catholic – one just never thinks about it. Well now, isn’t that a right piece o’ luck for you?’