For My Brother’s Sins

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

  He was flabbergasted. ‘But you know Father’s views on artists. He’d go up in the air if he thought I was slacking while my mother broke her back here.’

  ‘You’re telling me you don’t want this deal then?’

  ‘No! I’m not saying that at all,’ he said quickly, making her laugh. ‘I want it all right.’ He dropped his face and picked at the splintered edges of the crate, then looked up again to regard her with interest. ‘Can I ask what made you change your mind?’

  ‘Maybe it was just standing back and taking a really good look at my son,’ replied his mother. ‘You’ve an extraordinary talent, Sonny. I always knew that but I’ve just been too selfish …’ She countered his objection. ‘Oh, yes. I didn’t wholeheartedly agree with your father when he scoffed at your choice of career, but in letting him have his own way I was just as guilty.’

  ‘Well, I suppose as it turned out it wasn’t much of a hardship to go to college,’ said Sonny forgivingly. ‘I did manage to get in a lot of painting between lessons, so you could say we’ve both benefited.’

  ‘But if I’m not wrong you want to devote more to your painting than just in-between times? Make it more than a hobby, which is what it is at present.’

  ‘I’d be less than honest if I denied that,’ he answered. ‘Ideally I’d use it to form my future.’ He hunched forward, the points of his elbows resting on his knees. ‘You see, Father doesn’t understand what it means to me – I don’t think anyone does.’

  ‘Would you like to try explaining?’ she ventured. ‘Maybe if I were to put your case …’

  ‘It’s far too hard to describe. It’s like …’ he groped for a word that would dovetail with his feelings, but the only comparison with those was his brother’s obsession with women, and that was unmentionable. ‘Like an illness,’ he decided, for want of more apt description. ‘No … a compulsion. It’s not just that I like to paint, but that I must paint. The magic that takes over when I pick up a brush … it … oh, it’s inexplicable! I won’t even try. I think, though, of all of you Erin would be best able to identify with it. The look on her face when she plays her harp is what I feel about my painting.’

  His mother moved her head sadly from side to side.

  ‘And to think I’m responsible for denying you that pleasure …’

  He recovered his normal stance. ‘Don’t heap too much of the blame onto yourself, Mam. It was Father’s decision in the end.’

  She came alive. ‘Aye well, never let it be said that Thomasin Feeney was the one who robbed the nation of a major talent. I’ll stick to what I’ve said: you give me the mornings and the afternoons are your own. As for your father,’ she winked, ‘what he doesn’t know …’

  ‘D’you know …’ he kissed her ‘… I’m right glad you’re my mother.’

  ‘Aye, well you can show your appreciation by painting me some good pictures. If I’m going to employ a part-time assistant I’m going to make sure I get my lull whack. I’ve been studying that wall over there. It’s wasted space. I intend to put it to full use by covering it with an exhibition of your pictures. You must have a tidy few stacked away in that pigsty you call a bedroom. Somebody ought to be fool enough to buy them.’

  ‘Why, you mercenary old bugger!’ laughed her son. ‘And here’s me thinking you’re getting benevolent in your old age, when all the time you’re bent on making money out o’ me.’

  She gave a prim smile. ‘Well, don’t you want the opportunity to prove to your father that painting isn’t as worthless an occupation as he makes out? If your work is making money he’ll have to eat his words, won’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know that they will sell, Mam. People are a bit wary when it comes to unknown artists.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! If folk don’t know a masterpiece when they see one that’s their hard luck. Your paintings will be fetching thousands in ten years’ time.’

  ‘Well, perhaps twenty,’ he joked.

  ‘Not a word to your father about the afternoons off, mind. We’ll just let him think we’re selling the paintings you’ve done in the past.’ She elbowed him. ‘Isn’t this better than humping sacks of currants around all day?’

  ‘Owt’s better than that,’ he laughed, and squeezed her. ‘All right, if you say so I’ll dig out some of my better efforts and get them framed. Though I must say it’ll be like selling part of myself.’

  ‘Eh, you do talk daft,’ scoffed Thomasin. ‘Now, come on, let’s use that coffee roaster to stick kettle on, I’m fair clemmed.’

  Her comment brought another smile to his lips; it was ages since he had heard her use such an expression. As they approached the coffee roaster the sudden thought came. ‘Eh, what about Grandad? His nose is going to be put out of joint when he knows about this.’

  ‘About what?’ William continued with his ministerings without looking up.

  ‘That we want to boil the kettle on your new contraption,’ provided Thomasin adroitly.

  ‘Tha’ll ’ave a bloody job – blasted thing’s gone out.’ William rammed in a pair of bellows and worked them furiously.

  ‘Never mind, Dad,’ said his daughter. ‘I was thinking of locking up and going home anyway. Before I do, though, me and Sonny have been discussing the matter of this coffee roasting.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ He spared an abstracted look, then dropped his eyes back to his work, piling more wood into the roaster.

  ‘And we thought it might not be such a good idea for you to honour Sonny with your expertise.’ She eyed him carefully.

  ‘Don’t tha mean his talents are too good to waste on a soft article like me?’ answered her father sourly.

  ‘I didn’t mean that at all. My point being that you’d be better off with a boy who could devote all his time to learning the trade, without the distractions that Sonny would have. How would that suit you? An apprentice all to yourself.’

  ‘All to missen, tha sez?’ William stopped feeding wood into the roaster and perked up. ‘To do with as I like? Givin’ orders an’ that?’

  ‘Aye – you can whip him six times a day if it suits you,’ answered his daughter. ‘Provided you limit your teaching to coffee roasting and don’t pass on your expert vocabulary.’

  ‘Eh, tha gets more like tha mother every day,’ commented William, saying to Sonny, ‘There were a time when thy mother could match everything I said – an’ better it. This business is goin’ to her head.’

  ‘You’re right it is! And I’m learning more sense. You don’t win custom by telling people to bugger off like you’d do given a chance. Now, do you want this apprentice or not?’

  ‘Eh, I do indeed! Fancy, William Fenton a maister, with a lad to do his biddin’. Eh, I’m dead chuffed.’

  Thomasin winked at Sonny. Would that everyone was as easily pleased as her father. ‘Are you coming home with us, Dad or are you going to play with that all night?’

  ‘Nay, you go ’ome. I think I sh’ll stop a bit longer, get t’hang o’ this blessed thing. It’s a bit more newfangled than I’m used to.’

  When Thomasin and her son arrived home, Josie Flowers, the maid whom Thomasin had been fortunate enough to engage within a short interval of dismissing Amy, met them with a cheery welcome. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am, Mr John. I’ve got the kettle on to boil. You go rest your legs an’ I’ll whip it in there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  ‘Oh, God bless you, Josie.’ Thomasin handed over her jacket which the maid slung over her arm. Once in the drawing room she kicked off her shoes. The warm weather had made her ankles swell. I’m getting old at both ends, she thought, examining her hair in the mirror before sinking into a chair. Her feet troubled her something awful in the summer nowadays and the auburn in her hair was fast being replaced by silver. ‘Wouldn’t you know I’d start going grey just when red hair is all the rage,’ she complained to her son.

  Josie entered with the tea. ‘There y’are, ma’am, an’ I’ve made some o’ them little cakes you like an’ all.’

  ‘
Are you trying to fatten me up for Christmas, Josie?’ asked Thomasin, eyeing the great pile of cakes and scones. She liked Josie.

  ‘Fatten you up? Why, I should say so, wouldn’t you, Mr John?’ Josie said breezily. ‘You’re nothing but skin an’ bone, an’ no wonder the way you’re working yourself. You should take it easy at your age.’

  Thomasin covered a smile. Josie, at sixteen, thought as most young people did: once you were over thirty you were ready for the boneyard. She placed her throbbing feet on a bead-embroidered footstool. ‘Happen you’re right, Josie. I have been overdoing it lately – but no one else is going to mind the shop. My son’s a great help but if he could do the baking I’d be set up.’

  ‘Well, you will find work for yourself, Mother,’ said Sonny, munching one of Josie’s ‘Fat Rascals’. ‘And you’ll have even more to do now you’ve given me the afternoons off’.’

  Fortunately Josie missed the look of reproach that Thomasin threw her son for mentioning their secret. ‘Now, you know I offered to do Miss Erin’s job,’ she said plainly. Thomasin had told her of Erin’s aptitude and how she would miss her. ‘I’ve got into a nice routine now. I’m certain I could manage a few extra pies an’ all.’

  ‘It’d be more than just a few, Josie,’ said Thomasin, gratefully sipping the tea. ‘Everyone seems to have taken such a liking to our pies that I sell dozens every week. And if I get this new oven installed it could run to dozens per day. Besides, I don’t imagine you’d find much joy in splitting yourself between home and shop.’

  ‘You’re ahead of yourself, Mrs Feeney,’ scolded Josie. ‘No wonder you always look so tired. You haven’t even got the oven in yet. We can meet that when we come to it. ’Till then I’m sure I’m capable of turning out a few pies at home. If you could’ve seen the workload I had to cope with at my last job then you’d not doubt me.’

  ‘Doubt you?’ said Thomasin. ‘Never. You’re a gem, Josie. I consider myself most fortunate to have found you. And if you’re intent on doing that extra baking then you must have extra money to make it worth your while.’

  ‘Oh, ma’am, there’s no need. It’s so much easier here than at my last place that I sometimes feel ashamed to accept such a good wage.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you will get a pay rise,’ insisted her employer. ‘I had enough accusations of being tight-fisted from our last help.’

  ‘Oh, I’d never call you that!’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t dear, but all the same I think you’re worth more than you’re getting and therefore you’re going to get that rise.’

  Josie was in the middle of mouthing suitable credit when the doorbell sounded and she bustled off to answer it, leaving Thomasin and Sonny smiling over her enthusiasm.

  ‘Ah, you must be Miss Erin and Mr Sam!’ Josie exclaimed on opening the door to a surprised couple. ‘Or should I say Mr and Mrs Teale?’ She ushered them into the hall, fussing over their coats like a broody hen. ‘The mistress told me all about you, ma’am. You must go straight in, I know she’ll be delighted to see you both looking so well.’

  ‘Well, fancy ringing the doorbell!’ Thomasin leapt up as Erin and Sam were shepherded in and flung her arms wide.

  ‘We thought we’d surprise you.’ Erin received her hug then stood aside while Thomasin wrapped her arms around Sam.

  ‘You did that! Oh, it’s lovely to have you back. Are you both well? You certainly look it. What sort of weather have you enjoyed – or were you too busy to notice?’

  Erin blushed and pushed her mother away with a sharp laugh, answering the barrage of questions with one statement. ‘We’re both perfectly fit and well, Mam. Now, tell me who in the world is the girl who showed us in? She talks as though she’s known us for years.’ She returned her brother’s uneffusive, but sincere greeting and made way so that Sonny could shake hands with Sam. Thomasin led them to the sofa and, seating one on either side of her, told them all about the sordid affair with Amy. When she had finished Erin conveyed her disgust. ‘I don’t know why you put up with my brother, I really don’t. He disgraces the whole family.’ It was easy to see she had not forgiven Dickie for spoiling her wedding.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Thomasin wearily. ‘To cap it all, the other day a policeman knocked at my door and informed me that Dickie had been making a nuisance of himself with our neighbour’s daughter again. Said if it didn’t cease forthwith he would have to arrest him for making a public nuisance of himself. I was so ashamed.’

  ‘Why don’t ye throw him out?’ said Erin viciously.

  ‘I have seriously considered it, believe me.’ Thomasin’s face was awash with despair. ‘But he’s my son, Erin, I can’t just cast him out like I did Amy. I know he’s a despicable creature – a cheat and a liar – but I only have to look at his face to know I could never be so callous. All this has hit your father very hard; Dickie being a thief especially. The lad protests it was because we didn’t pay him enough, and at one time I did consider raising his allowance. But then we both came to the conclusion that he’d be an even worse philanderer with money in his pocket. By curtailing his funds we can at least keep some sort of control over him.’ She brightened and gestured at Sonny. ‘But I shouldn’t be complaining. This one makes up twofold for his brother’s sins. You ought to see the shop now, Erin, you wouldn’t recognise it The wall’s down and your grandfather’s set up a coffee roaster … Oh, now listen to me full of myself. I haven’t even asked if you’ve settled into your new home?’

  Erin said they had, even though they had only been back off honeymoon a couple of days. The house felt like home already. ‘Sam’s finding it hard to get up so early in the morning though,’ she added. ‘I don’t know why he doesn’t find work nearer home instead of travelling all the way to York every day.’

  Sam made his first donation to the conversation. ‘We’ve been through all that,’ he said patiently – too patiently. Thomasin at once sensed some sort of fricdon. ‘Mr Simons has been good to me. I can’t just up and leave like that, not until his apprentice has served his time, or at least has grasped the gist of the trade, enough to save Mr Simons doing all the heavy work.’

  ‘But that’ll be ages,’ protested Erin.

  ‘Not really. Just a couple o’ years. By that time we ought to have saved enough to buy those animals we’ve been talking about.’

  ‘You’ve been talking about,’ corrected his wife. She told her mother, ‘He’s getting so ambitious – even talking about buying more land. As if you haven’t been generous enough.’

  Thomasin said that this sounded like a fine idea and straight away offered financial help. ‘Always leave room for expansion, that’s my motto. That cottage is very cosy for two, but there’ll come a time when you want to build on.’

  Erin laughed, but the sound was without humour. ‘Mother’s got expansion on the brain. Here we are only just married and already she’s got us saddled with a family.’

  Sam remained silent and looked down at his hands. Thomasin noticed that perhaps Sam didn’t look as happy as she had at first thought. There was a worried crease dividing his forehead and the hint of a shadow under his normally sparkling eyes. It could, of course, be put down to rising extra early for work, but Thomasin was not so sure. She addressed Erin. ‘Well, isn’t that what you got married for? And if you think my comment is premature, why, let me tell you that I gave birth to Dickie in my first year of marriage.’ She chose not to divulge that Dickie had been conceived before the wedding.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ replied Erin airily. ‘I’m not sure that the world is any fit place to bring children into. There’s no future for them. Just look at all the wars and other terrible things that’re going on all over the globe. I couldn’t inflict that on a child of mine.’

  Thomasin smiled indulgendy. Wasn’t it funny how every generation of prospective mothers wrestled with this agonising decision? Nevertheless, looking at Sam’s preoccupied face she felt that there was more behind it. But it was none of her business; Eri
n was a married woman now and must solve her own problems. ‘Eh, I’ll be a lot happier when these lads of mine have made as good a match as you,’ she sighed to Erin. ‘One of them’s too busy dividing his attentions to be caught with one girl, and the other shows no inclination whatsoever to make his mother happy. I was just thinking, I’m not getting any younger. It’d be a tragedy if I were to die without seeing all my children happily married.’

  ‘We’ll have to see what we can do then, Mam, won’t we?’ Sonny winked at Sam, his spirits having been raised enormously by his mother’s generosity. But his brother-in-law did not seem his usual self at all. The cheeky grin was nowhere to be seen, and the normally youthful face looked all of its twenty-six years and more.

  Thomasin bit her finger thoughtfully. If that was the face of wedded bliss, then she was Queen Dick.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Having the afternoons to do with as he pleased did more than anything to help Sonny over the Agatha incident. By the summer he found himself able to think of her without it hurting. In fact he rarely thought about her at all, being involved so much with his other passion.

  Today, the family was at Mass, sitting in their habitual pew six rows from the front. Thomasin elbowed Dickie sharply to end his devious survey of the congregation. Wherever he goes, thought Sonny, seeing the action, he’s always on the lookout. He knelt down with the others and drew his rosary from the pocket of his smart donkey-brown frockcoat, lowering his head in a brief prayer: ‘please, God, make her be here.’ Peeping discreetly over the top of his clasped hands he shot a quick glance at the pew where he had seen her sitting last week, that lovely girl with the dimples and the doe-like eyes who had intruded on his thoughts even while he was painting.

  His stomach did a tipple-tail at the sight of a cherry-coloured bonnet. She was here! He was certain it was the same girl, though he could only see the back of her head from his position. It must be her; the bonnet was the same. The artist in him was always susceptible to colour and contrast. Apart from which, on the last occasion his observant eye had spotted a tiny mole just beneath her right earlobe. If she would just turn her head slightly so that the ringlets which now obscured it would … yes! It was her.