‘Well, you ought to let me stay at home and cook the meals,’ said Erin, when complimented. ‘And let Amy serve on here.’
‘What, and lose all my customers,’ was Thomasin’s droll reply, then she donned her hat and coat, said, ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ and left Erin to cope alone.
Two hours later she had still not returned. Erin, puzzled by her long absence, was rather angry at her stepmother for leaving her alone like this on one of their busiest days. There were a number of large pies in the oven they had installed in the back room – so that there would be less conflict in the kitchen at home – and Erin could smell that they were on the turn, yet custom denied her the opportunity to rescue them.
Thomasin returned at last and with no word of explanation, just a secretive smirk, took off her coat and set to whittling down the long queue. ‘There’s something burning in there,’ she told an infuriated Erin.
‘Well, I know that!’ shouted Erin from the other side of the shop. ‘I’ve been attempting to get through there for the last ten minutes. Where’ve you been?’ She slammed the till drawer shut noisily. When Thomasin imitated the annoying habit that Patrick had of tapping his nose with a forefinger she became even more upset. ‘Oh, come on, Mother! Ye can’t leave me here to do all the horsework without so much as a by your leave. I demand to …’
‘You demand?’ said Thomasin gaily, with a wink at one of her regular customers. ‘You demand! Eh, I don’t know what children are coming to these days, do you, Mrs Falsgrave?’
‘Mother!’ Erin reined in her temper as another customer approached the counter. There were three more behind her and Erin impatiently took care of them all before making a trip to the oven then turning on her stepmother yet again. Thomasin pretended not to notice as she escorted the last of the customers to the door and put up the Closed sign, then she whirled around to confront her daughter.
‘I can see you’re going to be no fit company to work with if I don’t tell you, so I’d better lock up if we’re to do without these constant interruptions. Running a shop would be lovely if it wasn’t for the customers.’
‘Mother, I’m in no mood for jokes …’
‘Who’s joking?’
‘I’ve ruined four good pies because of you. Now will ye please tell me – was it worth it?’
‘Then take them home for tea – everybody’ll naturally assume they’re Amy’s.’ She laughed. ‘All right, don’t start throwing things! I shall reveal all – I’ve been to buy a shop.’
‘But we already have a shop,’ Erin pointed out.
‘Well, now we’ve got another,’ said Thomasin, as if this explained everything. ‘Calm down, calm down!’ She warded off another burst of inclemency. ‘The shop next door is vacant – right?’
‘Correct.’
‘Not any more it’s not. Your clever mother has just been to an auction and bought it.’ She hoisted her shoulders in an expression of delight. ‘Eh, think of it, Erin. It’s ideal. If we knock down that wall we’ve got a spanking new emporium. I’ve got all sorts lined up for us. We’re not just going to be a grocery that sells the odd pie – your baking’s too good for that. I’m going to put in a really big commercial oven so we can do it justice. We’ll sell dozens. And I’m going to offer a service whereby people who shop with us can get their Christmas goose cooked free of charge. And I’m going to set up a Christmas club where people can save a small amount each week and by Christmas time have a nice big sum to spend on their yuletide fayre. And where d’you think they’ll spend it?’
Erin’s temper had long since fizzled out and she was now laughing full-bloodedly. ‘I think ye’d better sit down, Mam. After doing all that thinking ye must be in need of a rest. But tell me seriously, how could ye afford the place?’
Thomasin sat down. ‘When one has a friendly bank manager dear, one doesn’t need money. Mr Eade is very astute. He knows that this,’ she tapped her chest boastfully, ‘is a person who is going to go far. These boys don’t mind forking out if they think they’re going to get a nice fat return. Besides, I’m not entirely without funds, you know.’ At the outset Thomasin had instructed Mr Eade to invest a certain portion of her money in the manner which he thought most beneficial. She knew he had purchased some shares but was neither sufficiently versed in these matters nor interested enough to ask for details of her shareholdings. The store occupied ninety per cent of her time at the moment, too much to tax her brain with stocks and shares. Perhaps later when she had built up her business empire … She beat a rapid tattoo on her knees then rose from the stool. ‘Still, I shall have to have some extra money to pay for the improvements. I’ve been giving it some thought on my way back here. Our delivery service is well-established now – I shouldn’t think people will resent being asked to pay a small fee for the convenience in future.’ There came a rapping on the door’s glass window. ‘Eh, you can’t have five minutes can you?’ She went to unlock the door. ‘Never mind, I’ll try this one out about the delivery fee.’
‘Good day, Mrs Meldrum. Come to leave your next week’s order, have you? I do trust that everything is to your satisfaction? No complaints?’
‘Well, you nearly had one when I thought I’d come all this way to find you closed.’ The woman stepped past Thomasin and up to the counter. ‘But no, all in all I’d say we have an excellent arrangement. Very high quality merchandise and much better service than in the old days. And if I may say so what an extremely personable young man your son is, always ready to please.’
‘As we all are, Mrs Meldrum,’ said Thomasin, coming back around the counter. ‘Any little item you might require we will be only too pleased to supply. I’m delighted to have your continued custom.’ She ran her eyes over the woman’s list when she next spoke. ‘Having said that, it’s rather embarrassing that I have to raise the question of money. You see with my increased expenditure I find myself forced to add a delivery charge of tuppence to your weekly order. I’m sorry to have to do this, but as I said my own outlay impels me to do so. I hope that we can still rely on your patronage?’
Mrs Meldrum pondered for a moment, then said uncertainly, ‘We-ell … eightpence does seem very stiff for a delivery charge, Mrs Feeney. But I suppose one cannot expect such a service without having to pay for it – especially one so punctual and efficient.’
‘I think you misheard,’ said Thomasin patiently. ‘I said tuppence, not eightpence.’
‘Yes, but tuppence increase makes the charge up to eightpence. You already add on sixpence, don’t you?’ Thomasin was about to give a negative reply, then her adept mind summed up the situation and produced one sickening conclusion – her son was cheating her customers, and worse still he was cheating her. Covering her dismay she gave a stumbling excuse for this oversight, assuring Mrs Meldrum that there would be no increase on her bill.
It was a disgusted and furious Thomasin who left Erin to cash up the takings and wound up business an hour earlier than normal so that she might catch her son before he had the chance to disappear as was his habit on an evening. She stopped by the mews and, finding him rubbing down the horse ordered him to come home as soon as he had made Polly comfortable. Her tone implied that he was in for a roasting.
‘Ah, I’ve a wee bit o’ business to see to, Mam,’ he lilted, sleeking the mare’s coat with a bunch of straw.
‘Like fiddling your mother out of her hard-earned money?’
He laughed a shade uneasily and kept on working, giving himself a few moments’ grace in which to compose a virtuous expression. ‘Sure, I’d never fiddle you, Mam.’
Her grey eyes regarded him contemptuously. ‘You’d swear on the Bible would you?’
‘As God’s my witness,’ he assured her levelly.
The anger went out of her face and she gave a humourless laugh. ‘Then may that same God forgive you, Richard,’ she said wanly, and turned away. Her sharpness reappeared as she reached the door. ‘If you’re more than fifteen minutes I’ll send your father to fetch you. Oh, ye
s,’ she wheeled back and surveyed him coldly. ‘When you do come – bring your treasure trove with you.’
There was the slightest flicker in his unfathomable eyes. ‘What treasure would that be?’
She continued to stare at him icily. ‘You might think your mother is a halfwit because she’s allowed you to pull the wool over her eyes for so long, but I can assure you, Dickie, I’m not. You’ve not had time to spend all the money you’ve stolen from my customers …’
There seemed little use in upholding the pretence. ‘I didn’t steal it! I thought it was only fair that they should pay me for my hard work. They were only too willing.’
‘… that you stole from my customers,’ she continued as if he had not interrupted. ‘I know very well you must have it stashed away somewhere.’ His eyes jumped involuntarily to the loose brick in the wall. ‘So, that’s where it is!’ Her lips formed a hard line. ‘That money is mine, Richard; you will bring it with you when you come home.’
‘Will I?’ He set his jaw refractorily.
Her eyes glinted as they held his face, but she said nothing further, merely turned and walked out.
When she arrived home it was a rather smug-looking Amy who attended her. She seemed unduly polite, though Thomasin was far too preoccupied to notice.
‘There was a lady left her calling-card, ma’am.’ Amy produced a silverplated tray. ‘And this letter.’
Thomasin spared her a vague look, then ripped open the letter, allowing the marks of sabotage on the envelope to pass uncommented upon.
Mrs Feeney,
Your maid familiarised me with your name as I have not previously had the misfortune to make your acquaintance. However, current events have impelled me to call upon you to voice my protest. It was perhaps fortuitous that you should be out when I called as what I have to say is of a most unwelcome nature and is better dealt with in a letter.
It concerns your son …
It would do, thought Thomasin tiredly, then read on:
… who on numerous occasions I have caught making advances to my daughter. On none of these instances was my permission sought, indeed had it been I would have quashed the request immediately ...
At this juncture Patrick entered. He always came in by the kitchen entrance to avoid bringing soil into the hall, leaving his boots by the back door; in Amy’s opinion another pointer to his lack of breeding. ‘Hello, we’re early today!’
She looked up distractedly. ‘Oh, hello love. I thought you were Dickie.’
‘Judging by the look on your face I’m glad I’m not.’ He leaned over her shoulder. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘It’s a keep-off sign,’ she replied cryptically. ‘It appears our son is making unwelcome advances to one of our beloved neighbours’ daughters. If we didn’t know what they thought of us before, they make it crystal clear in here.’
Patrick read a few lines, then straightened, walked over to the fireplace and spat into the flames. ‘Bloody snobs.’
‘Well, be that as it may our son is upsetting them and they want him calling off. Otherwise,’ she slowly reread the closing lines, ‘they’re going to call the police.’
Patrick began to rage against the pomposity of his neighbours, about their prejudice and bigotry.
‘That’s not all, Pat,’ she said with creased forehead, during a lull in his anger. Folding the letter in half, she informed him bluntly, ‘Our son is a thief.’
Patrick opened his mouth, but any enlargement his wife was going to make was halted by Dickie’s appearance. He loomed, falsely cheerful, in the doorway. ‘Has somebody died?’ He alluded to their doleful faces.
‘Your blarney won’t work this time, young man.’ Thomasin’s palm shot out. ‘Hand it over.’
‘Hand what over?’ He still maintained his breezy exterior.
‘It’s in your right-hand pocket, you’re standing all lopsidedly. Now hand it over!’
Dickie dropped the façade and pulled the metal box from his pocket, placing it on her palm. It was much heavier than she had calculated it might be. ‘Is it all here?’ He nodded. ‘I’ll not ask you to swear on the Bible,’ she said sarcastically. ‘It’d be a bit futile, wouldn’t it?’ She rattled the box at Patrick. ‘This is what our son’s been doing over the last – how long is it, Dickie, two, three years? Stealing from his own parents. What do you make of that?’
Patrick sank into a chair, his face drained of any passion. ‘What does a man say when he’s told his son is a thief?’ he breathed, then shook his head to rid himself of the confusion. ‘Why, son? I know ye’ve always complained o’ being short o’ money, but to go behind our backs an’ do a thing like this …’ He ran a hand over his mouth and stared into the fire. Those words were the last he uttered for some time; it was Thomasin who went on to inform Dickie about the letter, and who doled out the punishment. ‘First, get this straight, Dickie: under no circumstances will you pester this woman’s daughter again.’
‘Mam, I didn’t pester her,’ he complained. He made to sit next to his mother and put his arm around her but her icy look dissuaded him. All at once he seemed to have lost his wizardly powers. ‘Look, the girl likes me. She wants me to call on her. Her mother is only being awkward because …’
‘Be quiet! I have given my verdict and you’ll abide by it. I hope I shan’t have to reissue my warning?’
‘No, Mother.’ He hung his head, assuming subservience but feeling anger. Anger at his mother for laying down the law, and scorn for his father, the real reason for their neighbours’ contempt. How could Dickie hope to impress anybody when his father insisted on wearing labourer’s togs? Patrick’s choice of apparel had helped to dub the whole family as peasants. They were never going to climb the social scale while his father clung to his origins. If a damn fool of a customer had not exposed Dickie’s deception he would still have his secret kist and could have packed his bags and left them all to it. But the three bob in his pocket would not get him very far. He needed them a little while longer.
‘Very well, after you’ve eaten you will spend the rest of the evening in your room, and also every evening for the next month.’ Thomasin drifted over to the fireplace and dropped the letter into the flames. ‘It seems to me you’ve been allowed far too much freedom and have abused it. A little self-constraint cannot but improve your character. Now, go to your room.’
‘Had our legs smacked, have we?’ smirked Amy as Dickie skulked morosely through the hall. He sucked in his cheeks and rolled his eyes despairingly. ‘Making him stop in his room like a naughty boy,’ she taunted, slouching gleefully against the door jamb where she had been listening.
‘We’ll see,’ he muttered darkly.
But any attempt at mutiny that Dickie had been nourishing was quelled later in the evening when his grimfaced father caught him trying to sneak out through the side entrance. ‘Very well, Richard,’ he said stiffly, having recovered from his earlier speechlessness, if ye insist on behaving like a naughty schoolboy then ye’ll be treated as such.’ He escorted Dickie up to his room and saw him safely inside. ‘Ye’ll be confined to your room each evening until ye show some contrition for your disgraceful behaviour. And since ye cannot be relied upon to perform any self-discipline, then I will have to give ye a helping hand.’ So saying, he locked the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Sonny! We didn’t expect you till later this evening.’ Thomasin tossed aside the sheaf of invoices through which she had been sifting and rose to greet her son.
‘School broke up early,’ he informed her as their auburn heads met. ‘I’ve left my trunks and painting equipment in the hall. I hope no one trips over them.’ Thomasin said she would send for Amy to take them upstairs. ‘I’m not helpless,’ he laughed. ‘I can carry my own things, you know.’ He began to retreat into the hall.
‘Well, hold on before you go rushing off to your room,’ said his mother. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find things slightly different up there. I’ve had to put you in with
your brother.’ She went on to explain the reason for this. Erin’s wedding would take place in ten days’ time and the house had to be rearranged to accomodate Sam’s parents who would be staying over the Saturday night, as would Thomasin’s own parents. Hannah wouldn’t allow herself to be left out and always welcomed the chance to be a resident of this big house. ‘I’m sorry about the inconvenience,’ she offered on seeing the distracted frown.
He hastened to assure her it was no hardship for him to share a room with his brother. ‘But you see it completely slipped my mind that the wedding was set for next Saturday. I’ve gone and invited Rupert and Agatha to visit on that day. I beg your pardon for not consulting you first, but I thought you’d want me to return all the hospitality they’ve shown me. Eh, I am sorry Mother, but it’s too late now to let them know. Even if I sent a letter they wouldn’t get it as they’re spending most of the holiday with relatives.’
‘You don’t half land me with some problems,’ she chided amicably. ‘Never mind, as long as they don’t expect to stay the night we’ll be solvent. Two more mouths at the reception aren’t going to make much difference anyway. Come Saturday morning and it’ll be like a buggers’ opera in here.’
He laughed. ‘They must take us as they find us, which, knowing diem, I’m certain they will – they’re very decent. Right, I’ll take up my things – oh, what time’s the ceremony by the way?’ His mother told him. ‘Ah well, they’re not coming until the afternoon so we should be back in plenty of time.’ He indicated the otherwise empty room. ‘All on our own, are we?’
‘More or less. Your father’s tilling God’s good earth, Erin’s round at Grandma’s getting a final fitting for her wedding gown and Dickie’s upstairs. I don’t know what he’s up to – I’m not sure I want to know, either.’ She told Sonny about the distressing episode of Dickie’s underhandedness. ‘It really knocked the stuffing out of your father, I can tell you. It was a shame it took something so drastic to make him see his son’s true colours.’ She also told Sonny about the need to lock Dickie in his room. ‘I think he’s learnt a bit of sense now, though. I haven’t had any more complaints from the neighbours. And he’s bought me that lovely plant over there as his way of saying he’s sorry. He can be such a loving boy at times, but I do wish he could be more dependable like you.’ She smiled at her younger son. ‘I never have need to worry what you’re up to.’
For My Brother’s Sins Page 29