‘Thank you, dear.’ She spread the bouffant skirts of the lilac gown more evenly over the chair. ‘I just thought I’d come and engage in a small chat with your friends while I have the chance. It’s very difficult having to circulate – everyone wants to talk to the bride’s mother. I’ll become quite conceited before the day is through.’ She smiled at Agatha. ‘That’s a very pretty gown you’re wearing, Agatha.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Feeney,’ said the girl, whose sudden, disarming smile encouraged further conversation. Her face, bordered by dark-brown hair parted in the middle and caught up in an elaborate chignon, had erstwhile seemed very aloof. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She turned to Sonny. ‘John, you are so much like your mother. Indeed, she hardly looks old enough to be your mother. If I had not been forewarned I should have taken her for your sister.’
‘What a very charming person your friend is,’ bubbled Thomasin to her son. ‘Agatha, with compliments like that you are welcome in this house always.’ Sonny smiled to show his attunement. His mother moved her body round to face Rupert who was the same age as her son but a great deal less robust. His complexion was sallow and Thomasin would have labelled him consumptive had he come from a poorer home. ‘It grieves me that I can’t offer you the same hospitality that you’ve shown my son, Rupert, but as you see we are rather overcrowded. As it is we’ll very likely end up sleeping six to a bed.’
This odd comment from a lady produced a slight twitch at the corner of one of Rupert’s eyes. He was lost for words for the moment, then managed to stammer, ‘Think nothing of it, Mrs Feeney. I quite understand. As a matter of fact we would be unable to accept your hospitality for our parents are giving a special luncheon tomorrow and expect us to be back.’
Thomasin asked Rupert about the college. Was her son a good scholar? Did he conduct himself well?
‘Oh, admirably, you may be assured,’ he smiled, harking back to the days when Feeney had fought with almost every boy in the school to defend his background. Rupert had been the new boy’s only friend at that time. Having borne the pain of a lot of wigging himself he had felt compassion for this unfortunate boy. ‘Feeney – that is, John – and I share a room,’ he informed Thomasin. ‘We’re best friends.’
Thomasin smiled and said that she was glad, then her face altered as she saw poor Mrs Teale being once more harangued by her mother. ‘Oh dear, it looks as if I must go to the rescue again. Please excuse me, Agatha, Rupert, but my mother can be a great trial at times.’ She rose and went forth hurriedly, leaving Rupert thinking what an odd lady Feeney’s mother was, and what a dreadful old snob his grandmother was, too. What right did she have to brag to that poor woman?
Dickie had been cornered by his grandfather. William, scorning the sherry that the maid had offered, had asked for a tankard of ale but had had to suffice with whiskey. He was well-saturated and speaking even more loudly than usual. Dickie saw Agatha’s head turn at a particularly noisy outburst from William. He shrugged apologetically and watched her over the rim of his glass.
‘What’s all this I’ve been hearin’ about thee?’ shouted William in Dickie’s face. ‘Like a bloody tomcat the mother sez y’are. She’s thinkin’ of havin’ thee seen to.’
‘Ssh, Grandad! Keep it down.’ Dickie ran a finger inside his collar and laughed into his hand. ‘Anyway, I’ll bet you were the same when you were my age.’
William guffawed and touched his glass to Dickie’s shoulder, sprinkling the youth with whiskey. ‘By tha what! When I were thy age …’
Dickie charged one side of his face with attentiveness while his grandfather began to relate all the tales he’d heard before. With the other side of his face he surveyed Agatha who kept darting inquisitive glances in his direction. He didn’t know what Sonny saw in her. The only thing to her credit was that she was gentry.
‘Tha’s not heard a word I’ve said, has tha?’ William jabbed his grandson in the chest. ‘Now don’t be tryin’ to tell me otherwise. Nay, I’ve seen thee makin’ sheep’s eyes at that bonny lahl filly ower there.’ He slopped his glass at Agatha. ‘I know tha’d rather be wi’ her than thy own grandfather.’
‘Ah, now you’re only sayin’ that to make me feel guilty,’ smiled Dickie, and began to move away.
‘I’m not bloody succeedin’ though, am I?’ shouted William. ‘Listen, don’t be slopin’ off just yet, I wanted a quiet word wi’ thee.’
Dickie’s smile widened. His grandfather, missing the humour of his comment, proceeded loudly, ‘’Ere, plant tha bum. I’m damned if I’m wanderin’ round after thee.’
Dickie stopped pacing and sat beside his grandfather on a carved oak chest which had been brought in as extra seating and made more comfortable with cushions.
‘Tha may’ve noticed I’m not gerrin’ any younger,’ said William, rolling the glass in his hardened fingers. ‘I want to ’ave this chat wi’ thee afore it’s ower late.’
‘Get away, Grandad! Ye can’t be more than fifty. Ye’ll outlive the lot of us.’ Dickie swilled his drink around his tongue, his eyes still on Agatha.
‘Well, there’s one thing certain, I’ll outlive thee, t’way tha’s goin’ on. Eh, y’allus were a smooth-talkin’ bugger,’ said William, shaking his head. ‘Nowt’s serious to thee, is it?’ Have a talk with him, Tommy had said. He thinks a lot about you; he’s more likely to listen than if we keep nagging at him.
‘What’s to be serious about? We could all be dead tomorrow.’
‘That’s what I’m tryin’ to get through to thee, clog-head. At least, I could be dead tomorra – that’s why I think it proper we should ’ave this ’ere chat.’
‘Chat, or sermon?’ said the other distantly. Agatha was holding out her glass for more elderberry wine.
‘Tek it either way tha wants, but tha’s gonna listen. Tha’s a big worry to thy mother an’ father, tha’s well aware. I’m askin’ thee to curb thissen. I know I made light on it afore, but happen it were a mite frivolous. Tha mother’s reet concerned, tha knows.’
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about,’ said Dickie, paying his grandfather full attention now. ‘I’m no worse than any other lad my age.’
‘Happen not, but I want thee to promise tha’ll not do owt to hurt ’em. Them’s good folk, tha mother an’ Pat, I don’t like to see ’em mucked abaht. If tha’ll tell me tha’ll do nowt to mek ’em ashamed o’ thee I’d be able to rest easier in me grave.’
‘Grandad, don’t talk like that,’ said Dickie concernedly. ‘You’re too young for such twaddle.’
‘Wilt tha promise?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t do anythin’ untoward,’ said Dickie. ‘What d’ye take me for? Sure, I like a pretty girl on me arm, but who doesn’t at my age?’
‘At any age, lad,’ grinned William, then meditated. ‘I told tha mother much t’same thing,’ he said, slurping from his glass. ‘Tha’s mekkin pumpkins out o’ pimples I told her – he’ll grow out of it. Eh, I don’t know. It don’t seem five minutes since I were tekkin pair o’ thee on me knee an’ tellin’ bedtime stories …’
I could tell you a few now, thought Dickie, a sparkle in his eye. Agatha was eyeing him again. He had caught her that time, even managed to make her blush. ‘We all get older, Grandad.’
‘It’s all reet for thee to say it so lightly, tha’s barely eighteen! Tha’ll not be so confident when tha gets to my age. So, before I kick me clogs,’ William dipped into his waistcoat and unhooked his silver watch from its anchor, ‘I’d like to see thee get this, bein’ t’eldest like …’
Sonny chose to glance over just at the moment the timepiece changed hands; saw the watch that he had always played with as a little boy and had hoped would be his some day, cradled in his brother’s palm. There was a cold knob of bitterness in the pit of his stomach as he watched Dickie turn it over to read the inscription that Sonny knew off by heart. What did his brother care for the watch? He who never allowed sentiment to meddle with his life.
‘That’s what tha
gets when tha works hard,’ William was saying proudly, after his grandson had read the inscribed words. ‘That’s not just a watch, it’s a monument to my father’s loyalty and industry – that wharrit sez: To Septimus Fenton, in gratitude for thirty years’ loyal service. From a real lord, that is. I’m trustin’ it to thee ’cause I want thee to follow his example an’ work hard for our Tommy an’ Pat; tha’ll get tha reward in t’end.’
‘This is reward enough, Grandad,’ said Dickie sincerely, sliding the watch into his own waistcoat pocket. ‘It’s the most precious thing anyone’s ever given me. I’ll treasure it always.’
‘Aye, well …’ William rubbed his nose, bashful at the height the emotions had reached. ‘Tha can bugger off now. I’ve said what I ’ave to. Where’s that bloody woman wi’ drinks?’ He shuffled off in search of more whiskey, leaving Dickie to seek a more interesting conversationalist
Hannah still had poor Edith Teale at her mercy; Thomasin had been sidetracked on the way to her rescue. ‘I’ll guarantee you haven’t seen anything as elegant as this before.’ Hannah fingered the tapestry hanging by the fireplace. ‘It is my own mother’s work,’ Edith was informed. ‘She was an expert needlewoman – as I am myself, I might modestly add – and came from a very distinguished family. Her maiden name was Barry and her ancestry travels right back to ten sixty-six when the Dubarrys, as they then were, came over with the Conqueror.’
Edith’s husband was engaged in talking to Patrick and was unable to offer his wife any assistance, but Sam overheard. ‘Really? I always thought Barry was an Irish name, Mrs Fenton,’ and earned himself a look of acrimony from Hannah. ‘Then you have been labouring under a fallacy, Samuel! I can categorically state that none of my ancestors’ blood was tinctured with that of the Celt.’
‘Just French, eh, Mrs Fenton,’ smiled Sam, and turned back to his bride who made a soft moue of reproach.
But Hannah was not to be deterred, and went on, and on, and on. Edith was feeling terrible. Mr and Mrs Feeney had seemed like such nice, ordinary people, despite the huge house, but Mrs Fenton was intent on making it plain that Erin, in marrying Sam, had married beneath her.
At last Thomasin freed herself and carried out her intention to rescue Edith. ‘Come now, Mother,’ she took a firm hold on Hannah’s arm. ‘The bride’s grandmother is expected to circulate too, you know.’ She noticed her father’s unsteady gait and pointed it out to Hannah who hurried off to intercept him.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry you’ve had to suffer for so long,’ Thomasin told Edith. ‘Every time I was about to rescue you someone collared me. Oh look, your glass is empty. Let me get it refilled.’ She looked around for a maid; there was none in sight. ‘Oh, dear where have those girls got to?’
‘Please, don’t worry on my account,’ said Edith, rolling the stem of the glass between her thumb and forefinger then, noting that the action drew attention to her work-reddened hands, ceased.
Thomasin sighed loudly and stood to reach the jug of lemonade from the cabinet where Fanny had left it, without, she noticed angrily, a mat to protect the mahogany. There was now a white ring marring the glossy wood. Knowing Sam’s mother’s views on drink she had made the lemonade specially.
‘I’ll bet they’re hiding in the kitchen.’ She filled Edith’s glass. ‘I shall have to go and scuttle them in a moment.’ Placing a mat under the jug she sat down again beside Edith and said sympathetically, ‘If it’s any comfort to you, Edith, my mother behaved in exactly the same manner to Patrick when he wanted to marry me; acting as if he were marrying into royalty. I don’t know why she does it. It only antagonises folk. We’re not that grand, you know. I should imagine the houses we’ve lived in were a great deal more humble than your own … that is …’ Oh, God’s truth! she hadn’t meant it to sound that way.
‘Oh, I don’t mind her comments,’ said Edith unconvincingly. ‘I dare say she was right in a lot of them. Sam is very lucky to be marrying your daughter.’
‘Eh, now don’t be giving me that,’ rebuked Thomasin. ‘The way I see it our Erin’s the lucky one to catch herself a nice steady chap like Sam. He’ll have his work cut out with her, you know. Oh yes, she’s a right stubborn little jenny when she puts her mind to it. I hope you’ll convey my apologies to Mr Teale for my mother’s behaviour if I’m unable to get around to it myself. He looked awfully annoyed before.’
‘Dominic’s a very proud man,’ Edith told her. ‘He’s worked very hard for what he has and hates for anyone to belittle it.’
‘I can understand that, Edith. My husband is a proud man, too. You must tell him, though, that nobody in this family takes the slightest bit of notice of my mother. We’re all that used to her sanctimonious speeches that we sometimes forget that strangers might be hurt by her attitude. Oh, dear, I really must see what those girls are up to – I can see a dozen people with empty glasses.’ She excused herself and swished off to the kitchen to remonstrate with the temporary help. ‘You’re supposed to keep people’s glasses filled,’ she complained on finding them, and Amy, sat drinking sherry themselves. ‘Not dallying here drinking yourselves sillier than you already are.’ She shooed the temporaries back to their posts, then turned on Amy. ‘And what might you be doing, madam?’
Amy, slightly tipsy, grinned. ‘Oh, there’s no need for you to call me madam, madam,’ and clinking the glasses together carried them to the sink.
‘I asked what you were supposed to be doing,’ repeated Thomasin sulphurously. ‘I did not ask for a load of cheek.’
‘I’m washin’ up, whassit look like?’
‘Aye, and I’ll bet you’re making that spin out, aren’t you? Just so you won’t be called upon to help the others in there. Well, when you’ve finished – which had better not be more than five minutes – you can get your body in there and pull your weight. We shall have to reconsider your position after the wedding is over. I’m greatly displeased with your standard of work.’ She returned to act as Edith’s protector, leaving Amy to fume with pent-up frustration. Had the maid known that a quarter of the clock would bring her the revenge she had been praying for perhaps her rage might not have been so acute and Thomasin’s crystal would have fared better.
Thomasin heard the doorbell sound and broke off her dialogue with Edith. ‘That’ll probably be Father Kelly. I’m glad the Bishop didn’t keep him yapping.’ She pulled the rope that worked the bell in the kitchen to indicate that Amy was expected to answer it, though holding out little hope of compliance. She was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when a flustered but civil-looking Amy appeared before her. Indeed, such pleasantry had never been forthcoming from this quarter before.
‘Sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but there’s a person outside says she’s a friend o’ yours. Says she’s got a present for Miss Erin. I weren’t sure whether to let her in, seein’ as how she didn’t have an invite.’
‘Well, naturally if she says she’s a friend then you must show her in, girl,’ said Thomasin, craning her neck expectantly. She was pressed to imagine who could be calling halfway through the reception. The smug expression on Amy’s face went unnoticed as the maid retreated to admit the guest. It was only when the latter appeared in the doorway that Thomasin understood the reason for Amy’s smile.
Patrick, who had been enjoying several confidences from Dominic Teale, saw heads beginning to turn. He watched his elder son cover a smile with his hand. Heard Sonny mutter, ‘Oh, crikey!’ Saw his wife’s blank mien and his mother-in-law’s chagrin, and turned his own head with theirs.
And there stood Molly Flaherty.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The bog-oak face registered both surprise and hurt as her slitty eyes fell on Erin’s wedding gown and the three-tiered cake by which the girl was poised. She looked from Thomasin to Patrick, then back at Thomasin. She said nothing, but they both knew what was going through her mind: she was Patrick’s oldest friend and she had not been invited to his daughter’s wedding.
And it had never crossed her min
d. Even when Father Kelly had told her that Erin was getting married after Easter she hadn’t thought it strange, them not mentioning it, for she hadn’t seen Pat or Tommy for quite a while and anyway the Father hadn’t said what date the wedding was set for. Sure, the boy would be rushed off his feet with all that land to see to. She’d go visit them herself and take the gift in advance of the wedding and they’d give her the invitation then. The shock of being so wrong was still on her face.
In her hand was a crumpled brown package. She now handed it falteringly to the girl to whom she had once been a surrogate mother. ‘Sure, I didn’t mean to barge in like this.’ Her voice was faint. ‘Father Kelly mentioned ye were gettin’ wed after Easter but he didn’t say what day. ’Twas only the thought o’ wantin’ to save your legs that brought me over with this. I thought ye must’ve been busy else one o’ yese’d been.’
Agatha and Rupert were thunderstruck at this filthy old pauper with her ragged bodice exposing one grubby breast and the piece of sacking that was slung across her hips covered in something unmentionable. She lifted a claw-like hand to smooth her tousled hair, what little was left of it. Her fingernails were black with the filth of her habitat.
Patrick came forward then to greet Molly while Erin stood nibbling her thumbnail, feeling utterly wretched, Molly’s unopened gift in her hand. Thomasin, too, recovered sufficiently to say, ‘Sonny, why don’t you and your brother take Rupert and Agatha for a turn round the garden? I’m sure they’ll find the spring flowers a delight.’ She then went over to Molly and led her to a chair as the young people filed into the garden, wincing at Agatha’s confused question: ‘Who is that funny old woman?’
‘’Tisn’t much of a present.’ Molly drew attention to the parcel, still clutched in Erin’s hand, and the girl hurried to unwrap it ‘I don’t expect ’tis as grand as your new friends’ve given ye.’ She eyed the others with suspicion and dislike.
For My Brother’s Sins Page 32