Sonny started as his parents and brother rose from their knees and settled back to wait for Father Kelly. He sat back with them staring at the cherry bonnet, willing her to turn round. For once in his life he didn’t want Mass to end. He just wanted to sit here and feast his eyes on her.
But inevitably Mass did end and people began to shuffle from their pews. Sonny felt a dig in his back. It was Dickie. ‘Get a move on, Son, I’m bloody famished. We’ll be here all day if ye let everyone else past. Go on now, after this old biddy. Push!’
Behind Dickie his parents waited patiently for Sonny to lead the way, but their son had no intention of leaving the pew until the girl who was moving slowly down the aisle came level with him. He held onto the backs of the pews on either side of him to stop his brother from pressing him out before he was ready to go.
‘Will ye bloody shift!’ hissed Dickie. ‘I’ve got things to see to.’ He leaned on his brother hard.
Sonny strained to keep his position. He looked directly into her face as she neared him. Look at me! he pleaded – and she did. Those molasses-brown eyes settled briefly on his red hair, then dropped to take in his own. At the contact she lowered her lashes demurely, suitably proper as she drew level with him.
Dickie was still pressing his weight against him. When Sonny released his grip on the pews to move forward, he went sprawling into the aisle. The girl gave a high exclamation as he crashed into her. Thomasin, who had seen it happen, gave Dickie a reprobatory prod in the back, while Sonny stuttered his profuse regrets to the girl.
And then she was lost; at least to Sonny. He could still see the top of her cherry bonnet as he shuffled shoulder to shoulder with the congregation, but when he finally slipped into the blinding sunlight she was gone.
After a disconsolate breakfast, during which he ate hardly anything, he told his parents that he was going for a walk. Thomasin folded her napkin and dabbed at her lips. ‘Well, please remember it’s the Sabbath, I trust you won’t be undertaking anything strenuous.’
‘Just walking, as I said, and maybe I’ll do a little sketching. I’ll be back for lunch.’
‘Would ye be knowing the whereabouts of your brother?’ Patrick asked before his younger son left. Dickie had wolfed down his breakfast then had hurriedly excused himself. ‘On second thoughts, don’t bother to answer that. I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.’
Sonny had not the slightest interest in where his brother had gone; he had only one person on his mind. He wondered whether she would be at Mass this evening – though his parents would think it highly suspicious that Sonny had actually volunteered to go to Mass twice. He must see her; he must.
Going upstairs he collected a fistful of pencils and a sketchpad then, as an afterthought, a small box of watercolours. Immersion in his favourite pastime might take that gnawing hunger away.
He strolled to the centre of town where he occupied himself for a short time pencilling sketches of various buildings or portions of architecture that caught his interest. But as he found that each sketch turned into a doe-eyed girl in a cherry bonnet he soon gave up. He would have liked to take off his coat – the sun was awfully hot – but felt that his mother might not approve of her son in his shirtsleeves on a Sunday.
Housing the pencil in his top pocket and the sketchpad under his arm, he strolled on. He wondered what she was doing now, and kicked a rotten apple along the pavement until it rolled out of reach of his feet and into the gutter. There was nothing in the windows to interest him at all. All he saw were cherry-coloured bonnets. Like as not he’d be seeing them in his sleep. There was yet another over there.
He sighed and walked on – then checked swiftly to stare at the girl who was sauntering towards him. Oh, no! Yes! I mean yes, don’t I? His mind would not function. What do I say? Say something, you fool! Anything to stop her walking past. But she was already past, her sprigged cotton skirt swaying from side to side and never a look in his direction.
And then he saw it: a tiny scrap of white lace on the footwalk. Deftly he snatched it up and hared after her. She graced him with questioning eyes at his rude approach. ‘I think this must be yours, miss.’ He breathlessly proffered the glove.
She gave an expression of surprise and examined her small hands with their tapered fingers and pink nails. One was wearing a glove, the other was naked. ‘Oh, how careless of me.’ She took the glove from him. ‘I’m most indebted, Mr … ?’
‘Feeney,’ said Sonny. ‘John Feeney – and it was my pleasure to oblige such a charming lady as yourself.’ Good heavens he was beginning to sound like Dickie! He rifled his mind for something intelligent to say, anything to keep her there. But there was no need – she appeared to be in no hurry to go.
‘I recall now taking the glove off to pick up a pin from the footwalk. Well, it’s good luck, you see,’ she explained. ‘See a pin, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck.’ Sonny nodded adoringly. ‘The glove must have slipped to the pavement. How fortunate that you were there to save me the trouble and expense of purchasing a new pair. You must be my piece of good luck.’ She laughed gaily, then leaned her head to one side and studied him. ‘Haven’t we met before?’
He was encouraged by her lack of inhibitions and soon lost his own. ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t a very favourable meeting. It was my clumsiness that caused you some discomfort in church this morning.’
‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘I did wonder if you’d done it on purpose just to get to know me. Well, it is the sort of trick some young men employ,’ she said as he reddened and pulled in his chin. ‘Oh, dear! I hope I haven’t offended you.’ She bent her knees slightly in order to see into his hidden face. ‘I was only teasing. I’m afraid that’s one of my faults. I’m always upsetting members of my family with it.’
He forced his eyes to meet hers, though they burnt with embarrassment as he spoke. ‘You were right.’ She repeated her trait of putting her head to one side. ‘I mean … I did do it on purpose,’ he blurted. ‘Well, not actually… what I mean is … I did … I do want to get to know you.’ It was said. He breathed a sigh of release.
‘Well, I must say, Mr Feeney you can be very persuasive in your ambitions. You almost bowled me over.’
Sonny was immediately at pains to specify that it had been his brother who had pushed him. He would have made his approach more gently had he been allowed. ‘I’m glad we’ve met again. The apology I gave this morning was hardly sufficient.’
‘I agree it was most opportune, Mr Feeney,’ she smiled. ‘Not because I fancied your apology to be unsatisfactory, but because I too was eager for us to know each other more intimately.’ He gaped speechlessly as she added lightly, ‘Do you believe I’m always so careless with my gloves?’
‘You dropped it on purpose?’ said Sonny, though more amazed that his feelings had been reciprocated than at her blatant act.
‘I know it was terribly forward of me,’ she pouted. ‘But, dear Mr Feeney, I’ve been thinking of you all morning since church. I kept inventing different ways of getting to know you, never suspecting that I would be able to carry out my plan so soon. When I saw you not twenty paces away I had but a few seconds to make up my mind. It was a very old ruse I chose I must admit, but effective all the same. I was, though, a little troubled that my precocity might deter you, that you might think me terribly fast.’ Her lashes fluttered modestly against her cheek.
‘Oh, my dear Miss … why I don’t even know your name,’ exclaimed Sonny.
She provided it. ‘Margaret Clancy.’
‘Dear Miss Clancy, I’d never hold you in such low regard. Indeed, my own thoughts throughout the morning have been on a similar par with your own. I, too, had devised methods of meeting you, but I’m too great a coward ever to have carried them out.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she chastised gently. ‘Besides, now we’ve been properly introduced there’s no more need for devious action. We can be open and honest with each other, can’t we?’
Sonny eager
ly agreed. ‘Can I walk with you awhile?’ She said that she was going to visit her aunt and that he might walk as far as King’s Square with her. ‘I should hate for my aunt to look from her window and see me arm in arm with a gentleman, unchaperoned; she’d deem it most immoral.’
He took this as the hint it was and linked his arm with hers. ‘I hope you’ll excuse my asking, but isn’t Clancy an Irish name?’ He felt a slight stiffening of her arm and added swiftly, ‘You have no trace of an accent.’
‘My father and mother came from Ireland,’ she explained. ‘I was born here.’
‘So was I,’ said Sonny. ‘But only my father is Irish.’ ‘You have managed to rid yourself of the accent too,’ said his companion.
‘You speak with some bitterness, Margaret… oh! I’m sorry, may I call you Margaret?’
‘No, but you may call me Peggy,’ she smiled. ‘Everyone does. Yes, you are right about my wish to hide my ancestry wherever possible. You too must be aware of the bigotry directed at us. As a young girl it quite upset me.’
He laughed softly. ‘You are still young.’
‘I am seventeen, Mr Feeney … John.’ She was quite serious.
So accustomed was he to hearing his childhood nickname that when she spoke his real name he felt his skin tingle with delight.
‘I trained myself to speak properly so that if one were not acquainted with my name one would never know I was Irish.’ She did not reveal that she had accomplished this while in service, listening carefully to each of her employer’s commands, not out of conscience but so that she would be able to repeat them accurately to herself later. It had worked; there was no trace of sing-song to her sentences now. She only wished her family would be so easily disposed of. They were going to prove a great handicap here. ‘Surely, you too must have entertained similar ideas, John? I mean, you obviously had to alter your accent.’
‘Not consciously,’ said Sonny. ‘It just happened when I went away to college. I’m not ashamed of being half-Irish, Peggy. I’m proud of my father; he’s a good man. If people want to slander us then let them. I’ll not relinquish my heritage for the sake of prejudice.’
‘I’m sure you’re a very noble sort of person, John,’ she sighed. ‘Beside you I must appear so shallow and conceited. Do you know, there was a time, quite recently, when I even toyed with the idea of marrying someone simply to change my name.’
He was aghast. Was that a hint for him not to mention the subject of marriage? That she would in no way countenance swapping one Irish name for another?
But Peggy went on: ‘I understood in time of course that my motives for marrying the person concerned were quite wrong. It would have been cruel of me to marry him purely for his name. Now that I am more mature I have dispensed with such fancies. When I do marry, John it will be for love. And I shall not care what his name is. I may be an idealist but I do believe that love is paramount when choosing a partner for life. Don’t you agree?’ She tightened her grip on his arm.
‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Sonny.
* * *
They met every Sunday after that – in secret naturally, for Sonny, much as he wanted to show her off to his family, knew what would happen the moment she spied his brother. In church they behaved as total strangers, only later in the afternoon could they share their true affections. Eventually, though, his parents began to comment on his regular absences and he was forced to tell them.
The moment that Sonny introduced his mother to his sweetheart Thomasin knew that this girl was not for her son. She watched those liquid brown eyes pour over her elder boy to whom the girl was now being introduced. Peggy was indisputably good-looking, albeit in a blowsy sort of way, but was more the kind that Thomasin would have associated with Dickie than with her younger son. And that terribly pretentious voice! I know you all right, lass, thought Thomasin shrewdly. The sort that dresses immaculately on top, but underneath her garments are crumpled and grimy – rather like her nature. And much as I want to see my son settled you’ll not be the one to get your hooks into him if I have my say.
She waited for Josie to lay down the tray of tea before she began her grilling. ‘Where do you live, Peggy?’
Peggy accepted a cup of tea. ‘Goodramgate,’ she replied but did not go into detail. Probably Bedern, thought Thomasin, though her fine clothes would have me believe otherwise. Bedern was as notorious an Irish ghetto as the one from which the Feeneys had sprung. She asked if Peggy had regular employment.
‘I have indeed,’ replied the girl. ‘I am a lady’s companion.’ Well, that sounded more impressive than a maid-of-all-work, and it was not exactly a lie. She did keep her employer company – she and the old girl were the only two people in the house.
Patrick, too, had his questions. ‘Do I know your father, Miss Clancy?’
‘I think not, Mr Feeney,’ she responded after disposing of a mouthful of cake. ‘He is familiar with your identity of course, being a regular churchgoer himself. He and my mother are always voicing their admiration for the way you have improved old Mr Penny’s store.’
‘I’m afraid that’s to my wife’s credit an’ not mine,’ answered Patrick pleasantly. ‘I only produce the fruit an’ vegetables for her to sell.’
‘Then it’s you I must congratulate on the grand appearance of the store,’ said Peggy to Thomasin. ‘My mother always shops with you, I believe, although I am hardly ever at home due to my work.’
Thomasin could not reply that she was acquainted with Mrs Clancy, for much as she would have liked to know every customer by name to cultivate her reputation of good service, her clientèle was now so large as to make this virtually impossible.
Patrick then asked in what line of business was Peggy’s father.
‘He is in the building profession,’ disclosed Peggy.
‘Ah, didn’t I used to be in the building trade meself,’ said Patrick. ‘I like the outdoor life. Though I must say I prefer to work the soil than a pile of mortar.’
‘So, you find no interest in retail, Mr Feeney?’ enquired Peggy matter-of-factly. ‘I find it all fascinating myself, and envy Mrs Feeney her skill.’
Thomasin put the record to rights. ‘I did have a lot of help from my family. In fact, now that Sonny is no longer at college he probably puts in as much work as I do.’
‘I daresay it will all be good practice for when his time comes to take over,’ replied the girl, without thinking.
Yes, he is a good catch, Miss Clancy, isn’t he? thought Thomasin intuitively, but smiled evenly and said, ‘I have three children, Peggy. When the time comes for my husband and I to meet our Maker the property will be divided equally.’
Peggy was contrite. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to imply … oh, dear, how rude you must think me. I’m sure you have many years ahead of you yet. I simply meant that John appears to be the one most directly concerned in the running of the store. I assumed …’ her voice trailed away and she hurriedly hid her face in her teacup.
Thomasin finished her tea, placing the cup and saucer on the tray. ‘Sonny, I’m sure that you and your friend would like a bit of privacy. Would you care to take Peggy into the front parlour?’
Sonny rose, trying not to look too eager, and led Peggy through to the other room, leaving behind a mother whose opinions were quite infrangible; this must be allowed to go no further.
‘I fear your mother doesn’t like me,’ said Peggy plaintively when they were alone. ‘I believe my innocent remark about you and the grocery led her to think that I am only interested in you for the fortune you will inherit.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong,’ said Sonny earnestly, seating himself beside her. ‘Mother doesn’t think that way at all.’ He was blissfully unaware that the Peggy he saw and the one his mother saw were two different creatures. His Peggy was the sweetest thing he had ever met. He was so glad that his mother had suggested bringing her in here, having found the way Dickie had been examining her quite unnerving. ‘I think she’s very pleased that I’ve found som
eone of my own.’
‘Well, your father seemed to like me,’ said Peggy thoughtfully. ‘He was very charming, and your brother – does he have anything to do with the grocery trade?’
He nodded, wishing she would not show so much interest in his brother. ‘He runs the delivery service.’
‘I didn’t know. I must speak to Mother; she will be very interested. Is your brother not spoken for, then? I believe he is older than yourself.’
‘A year, that’s all. No, Dickie is unattached. He hasn’t yet found anyone who is willing to put up with him.’
‘I would have thought that a handsome fellow like him would’ve been snapped up ages ago.’
‘For someone who professes to be very fond of a chap you show an inordinate amount of interest in my brother,’ scowled Sonny, and stood up to pace the room agitatedly.
‘Oh, John you’re jealous! How could you think I would set my cap at him when I already have a handsome, caring beau of my own?’
He caught hold of her hands. ‘Do you really think that? I’ve always been in my brother’s shade in that sphere.’
‘Oh no, you are far more attractive than he is,’ soothed Peggy. ‘He’s too flashy by far. I wonder you can even think such a thing after we’ve been seeing so much of each other.’ She led him back to the sofa and changed the subject. ‘Tell me, why does everybody call you Sonny?’
He winced. ‘It’s just a name I’ve had since childhood that seems to have stuck. It was given to me initially so I wouldn’t be confused with my Uncle John who used to live with us. I’d rather you didn’t use it.’
‘Nonsense! I think it suits you. The way you were looking at me a few moments ago reminded me of a little boy whose favourite toy has been taken from him. Most appealing.’
For My Brother’s Sins Page 36