‘But I’m not a little boy – and I don’t regard you as a plaything, Peggy.’ He hung his head. She always made him feel so juvenile.
‘Oh, there I go again. I can’t seem to let two minutes pass without teasing someone. Dear Sonny – for that is what I’ll call you despite your reservations. I think it is a charming name. You will be my own dear Sonny and I promise not to tease you ever again.’
Sonny gazed into her winsome face, his own burning with love and admiration. ‘Can I kiss you, Peggy?’ he asked without notice. It had taken all these weeks to pluck up the courage even to ask.
She avoided his beseeching face as if shocked. ‘I made myself a promise, Sonny,’ she whispered. ‘That I would only allow myself to be kissed by the man I am to marry.’
‘Then I ask you again,’ came the husky response. ‘Can I kiss you, Peggy?’
She turned wondrous eyes to meet him. ‘Are you then asking me to be your wife?’
‘I am.’ His nose was almost touching hers.
‘Then you may kiss me, Sonny,’ she answered, the second before his warm, dry lips pressed clumsily on hers.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Summer was on the wane. There was a doleful scruffiness about the garden now that the herbaceous borders were past their best. It was in that awkward transition period, when the summer flowers are dead but the flame of autumn has not yet been ignited. Thomasin paused in her toilet to look from her bedroom window into the garden. She had always hated this time of year. The state of the garden mirrored her mood. She should have been quite contented with her business growing more prosperous by the day, her daughter married and her younger son promised … but she wasn’t.
The dying summer instilled in her a vague unease. If only her elder son would find himself a nice girl then perhaps that feeling would subside. Or perhaps it was the rift that had set in between herself and Sonny, always so close, that had produced this despondency. Her attempts to dissuade him from being too hasty in his choice of partner had been a failure. More than that, there had been displays of temper from him that had been under restraint for many years. It wasn’t right; at this time in her life she should be allowed a little peace. She sighed, and answered the summons of the breakfast gong.
Once breakfasted the family prepared for work.
‘Don’t forget to go round to the wholesaler’s first thing this morning,’ Thomasin reminded Dickie as he made for the front door. ‘There’re a lot of items I’ve run down on. I’d hate to be completely without.’
‘I’ve said I’ll go, haven’t I?’ He slammed the door and made his way to the mews. Once there he harnessed up the mare, whom he had earlier groomed and fed. He was a lot more conscientious nowadays, as far as the horse was concerned. He climbed onto the cart, feeling unusually depressed this morning. He put it down to being robbed of his brother’s companionship; Sonny spent all his time with Peggy now. Being stuck all day in this dead-end job didn’t help. There was no incentive to anything. His mother had clamped down on his money-making activities, demanding to go over the takings for the grocery round time and time again until they balanced. He had yet to find a loophole which allowed him to make a few bob on the side. Oh sure, he didn’t need the money for his women, they were easy enough to come by. But Dickie wanted something else. Something of his own that would furnish him with more and more money. For money was power.
Sadly, he was powerless today – his pockets were devoid of even a farthing. Money had a habit of slipping through his fingers like water. He had not even a pipeful of tobacco in which to take comfort.
The cart rumbled past a pawnbroker’s. Somewhere in the back of his mind a chord was plucked. After a further revolution of the wheels he suddenly hauled in the reins, leapt down to the pavement and went into the pawnshop. When he re-emerged his right-hand pocket was ten shillings heavier and the pocket which had held his grandfather’s heirloom had lost its bulge. The moment the watch crossed the counter was the last that Dickie thought of it. He shoved the screwed-up ticket into his pocket and went straight into the tobacconist’s next door.
But even the expensive pipeful of tobacco could not alleviate his mood. His less than genial arrival at the wholesaler’s prompted an enquiry from one of the labourers. ‘What’s up, didn’t yer get none o’ yer usual exercise last night?’
When the typical rejoinder was unforthcoming the labourer, Albert, clapped him on the back and laughed, ‘God’s truth! You are in a way wi’ yerself. Away wi’ me an’ I’ll show yer a bit o’ summat as’ll cheer y’up.’
Dickie grimaced and followed him lethargically through a maze of stacked crates to where a batch of workers were engaged in loading boxes onto a wagon. ‘There, what d’yer think to that?’ queried Albert, pointing out a girl whose pretty print frock was mostly obscured by a rough, unattractive apron and who was busily ticking off items on an invoice.
‘Is that your surprise?’ asked Dickie detachedly as they drew nearer.
‘Well, don’t sound so interested,’ chided Albert. ‘What’s up wi’ yer this mornin’? Yer must be sickenin’ for summat. We can’t usually keep yer away from t’lasses. Don’t yer think she’s a smasher?’
‘I’ve seen better,’ answered the other uncharitably, and knocked away Albert’s hand as the labourer sought to feel his forehead.
‘You are sick,’ said Albert. ‘Anyroad, I suppose it’s just as well ’cause yer’d not get anywhere wi’ her. She’s a bit out of our class.’
‘Is it lumpin’ me with the likes o’ you lot ye are?’ was the corrosive answer. ‘Have ye not known me long enough to know that all I have to do is sit on this here crate, snap me fingers an’ she’d come running.’
They had moved into earshot now. The girl’s nostrils flared with annoyance at his self-opinionated assumption, but her eyes never wavered from the invoice. ‘There’s two sacks of lentils short,’ she informed one of the boys who was stacking crates. ‘Go see where they’ve got to – and while you’re at it nip into the office and fetch that clipboard that’s on my chair.’
‘Will ye listen to it givin’ orders,’ muttered Dickie to his partner. ‘An’ her not the size of a flea’s earlobe. There’s not much on her to cushion the bedsprings, is there? Is she like this with everyone? D’ye want I should put her in order for ye?’
The girl turned on him and her face was furious. ‘The possibility of you “putting me in order” is about as likely as someone nominating you for Prime Minister! You may not have anything better to do than sit there sneering but we have.’ She walked up to him, the invoice crumpled in her balled fist. ‘Kindly give Albert your order and then we’ll have you about your business. I can’t have you keeping my staff tittle-tattling all day.’
‘Gob, have ye heard the woman?’ laughed Dickie to Albert who had begun to look uncomfortable and now tried to silence him.
‘I’d better tell yer who you’re talkin’ to before yer get in any deeper,’ murmured the labourer, ill at ease.
‘Don’t bother, Albert!’ snapped the girl. ‘Just get on with what you are supposed to be doing. I’ll deal with this person.’ Before a slack-jawed Dickie could speak she was at his throat again. ‘Now, I don’t know who you are …’
‘The name is Feeney, ma’am!’ Dickie sprang to life and bowed. ‘Richard Feeney esquire at your service.’ The turbulent interchange had whetted his curiosity in this undersized virago, whose rather bland exterior had metamorphosed with the onset of her temper. Slanting green eyes blazed from beneath the frizzy chestnut hair which had been scragged back into an unprofessional chignon. She had the look of a cat whose tail had just been trod on.
‘… and I’m not really concerned,’ she fobbed off his gallantry. ‘What does take my interest is how you have the gall to come in here with your unfounded insults …’
‘I’m sorry, I …’
‘… we’ve never even met and there you are making the most derogatory remarks in front of my staff…’
‘Well, it
was that remark I found funny, ye see,’ supplied Dickie. ‘You referring to “your staff” .’
‘Then your humour must be easily satisfied. What gives you cause to doubt that I have every right to address them as such?’
‘Well …’ he groped lamely for an answer. She had thrown him completely out of kelter with her attack.
‘My father happens to own this warehouse, Mr Feeney and from time to time in his absence I deputise for him. Therefore I think even you would agree that I have every right to label these people as “my staff” ?’
‘Well, yes of cou …’
‘So! If you would kindly surrender your order and we may all continue with our work?’
‘Look, I’m sorry if I offended ye,’ said Dickie. ‘A beautiful lady like yourself.’
‘You didn’t seem to hold the same opinion a moment ago. If my memory doesn’t fail me you found my lack of physical attributes a source of ridicule.’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘It doesn’t matter one jot to me what you meant,’ she answered loftily, her cheeks still pink with temper. ‘As far as I am concerned your disgusting conceptions are irrelevant. I …’
Dickie jumped in desperately. ‘Look, I’m trying to apologise. I was in a foul humour an’ I took it out on you. I humbly crave your pardon an’ beg ye to let me make it up to ye.’
‘And how do you propose to do that?’ enquired his opponent guardedly.
‘Well, I’m askin’ ye to do me the honour of dining with me. Would tonight be convenient? I’ll come an’ pick ye up at …’
Before his last offering the girl had been prepared to be mollified – he was an extremely attractive young man – but the fact that he had not awaited her reply, had merely taken it for granted that she would accept his invitation produced an incendiary effect in her. Her eyes flashed. ‘I’m sorry, I have another engagement this evening,’ she said curtly.
‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘No,’ she replied bluntly, coldly. ‘I accept your reparation but I do not wish to associate with you further. Your infantile preamble might make some of the more gullible of my gender swoon at your feet but it does not impress me. I can see straight through you, Mr Feeney. I know your type. That kind has always repelled me.’
He was astonished. She gave him a wintry smile and, at his speechlessness, pressed home her attack. ‘I can see you are more used to silly females who faint into your arms. I am sorry to disappoint you but I am not of that persuasion. I have far too responsible a position here to indulge in such foolish practice. So, if you’ll excuse me I’ll proceed with my work.’ She started to walk away as Dickie found his tongue.
‘Talk about me having a high opinion of meselfl’ he shouted after her. ‘I’m a poor second behind you. Well, suit yourself but ye don’t know what you’re missing, lady.’ He laughed acidly. ‘Or maybe ye do. Perhaps that’s what you’re afraid of. Ye’ve probably only been courted by milksops afore. Never been out with a real man. Oh, well,’ he threw his mother’s list onto a bench, ‘I’ll leave that with ye. When ye realise what a mistake ye’ve made the address is at the top of that list.’
She regarded him contemptuously from the office doorway. ‘Why should you think I’ve made a mistake in refusing your offer?’
He hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat and strolled over to her nonchalantly. ‘Ah, it’s been done before. Girls are sometimes overwhelmed by my presence, but they soon realise what they’re missing an’ come running. Ask around, anyone’ll tell ye what a fine asset I am to a lady’s boudoir. I’m thinking’ o’ taking out a patent.’
She angled her shoulders. ‘No, Mr Feeney I do not need to ask around, because if your intellect is any indication of your unbreeched prowess then I doubt I shall be missing very much at all. Good day!’ She closed the door firmly in his face.
Dickie stood looking at the closed door, dumbfounded, until the furtive titters pierced his shock. The only way to compensate for his loss of face was to join them. He threw back his head and to his surprise the laugh that boomed out was genuine. She really had the measure of him.
‘I did try to warn yer what yer were lettin’ yerself in for!’ cackled Albert. ‘By, she’s a right caution, isn’t she? She might ’ave the airs of a lady but by God she don’t mince her words. Now yer know why none of us lads dare to mess with her.’
Inside the office the girl pressed her back to the door and tried to listen to what was going on at the other side, but was rendered deaf by the unaccountable rushing in her ears.
* * *
Each time Dickie visited the wholesale merchants he looked for her, but was invariably disappointed. A sly survey of the office revealed only the dour-faced Mr Miller, her father. He tried going to the warehouse at different hours of the day, but not once in the ensuing fortnight did they meet. He began to feel disillusioned and not a little angry at himself for this alien role. No woman had ever affected him like this. He tried to name one item that made her so desirable and could not come up with a single one. Her hair was like a bird’s nest, her mouth was too big – definitely too big; he prickled at the way she had got the better of him. And there was nothing about her figure that made him want to crush it to him. So why could he not forget her? Why, when he was stowed away in a cosy corner with someone twice as attractive as the shrewish Miss Miller, did his mind always wander? He must see her again, if only to reassure himself that she was not worthy of all this self-flagellation.
And see her he finally did. Some three weeks after their first encounter he arrived at the merchant’s to find her seated in the office, knitting and sipping tea. He paused outside the open door and peeped around it. ‘Hello there! I was beginning to think ye’d dropped off the edge o’ the earth.’
She glanced up briefly, then dropped her eyes back to her knitting, seeming to find more interest there. ‘Yes, it stands to reason that a pea-brain like you would still believe the earth was flat. I should not imagine that it would be of any consequence to you if I had dropped off.’
‘Oh, but it would.’ He slipped into the office and closed the door behind him, regaining some of his self-esteem at the flicker of apprehension in her green eyes. ‘Ye see, I was desperate to make amends for the way I discredited ye the last time we met.’
There was a derisive arch to her eyebrow. ‘I rather thought that I was the one who did the discrediting.’
‘You’re right!’ he burst out crossly. ‘Ye were very rude. There was no need for it, none at all. No one’s ever spoken to me like that before.’
‘Oh, I’m quite sure they haven’t,’ she smiled knowingly. ‘And that’s what attracts you to me, Mr Feeney, is it not? You find it most unnerving that I am not another little goose to add to your list of conquests, and your male ego has been deflated. You won’t rest until you have compromised me.’
He looked positively decimated. ‘Miss Miller! I don’t know who’s been dirtying my good name, but sure I’d never take advantage of such a lady.’ She’s right, by God, she’s right, the wee bitch. Of course that was the reason he found her so alluring. He had grown so used to getting his own way that it was all too easy, lacked excitement But not now – damn her. She excited him. He would never rest now until he had got what he wanted. Just let her see how long she could hold out, the officious wench, and afterwards how much she’d have to say for herself. He rested one of his buttocks on her desk and leaned over to insert one of his fingers through a chestnut curl, not minding that she jerked her head away. ‘Miss Miller,’ he embarked, then sighed. ‘Look, I can’t keep callin’ ye Miss Miller.’
‘Why not? That’s my name’ she said lightly, finding his attempts at seduction very entertaining. She completed the row of knitting and started another, tucking the needles under her arms.
‘Your first name,’ he prodded. ‘Please, if ye’ll not consent to anything else at least give me your name to console myself with.’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ she answered. ‘But I can’t s
ee the harm in it. My name is Dusty.’
‘Sure, now what sorta name is that for an immaculate vision like yourself?’
‘That’s what everyone calls me,’ she replied, going back along the row to pick up a dropped stitch. ‘Because of the surname.’
‘Ah, I see now – Dusty Miller.’ He nodded. ‘Still, a strange name for one so fair. Your beauty could blind a man, Dusty.’
‘So could these knitting needles. Now will you please stop sprawling all over my desk?’
‘But will ye not tell me your given name?’ he begged.
She shook her head. ‘No one uses it except my father.’
‘Tell me,’ he persisted.
‘It’s a ridiculous name,’ she snapped from embarrassment. ‘Oh well, if you must know … it’s Primrose.’ Her glare said – laugh if you dare!
But he did not laugh, he sighed rapturously. ‘Begod it suits ye, so it does, sitting there in your bonny yellow dress, with your hair the colour of autumn leaves an’ your eyes belonging to some sorta wild creature. Mother Nature herself. Primrose, you’re like a breath of spring …’ he broke off as she started to laugh.
‘Oh, young Feeney you’re a tonic!’ She set down her knitting and giggled. ‘You sound just like one of those Penny Dreadfuls!’
‘I’m glad ye find me so funny – an’ not so much of the young.’
‘Well, you are young – if you could hear yourself.’ She started to cough with laughter.
He was reaching a state of desperation. ‘Ye’ll be sorry if I tire of your indifference an’ walk out. Come on, admit it – you’d miss all these compliments I’m tryin’ to pay ye.’
She cocked a humorous eye. ‘Is that a pig’s nest I see on that chimney pot?’
He straightened haughtily and laid a docket in front of her. ‘Very well, when ye’ve finished havin’ your laugh at my expense maybe ye’ll be good enough to have one o’ your lackies get this order ready?’ He turned and marched away, anticipating the cry of apology before he reached the door. But it did not come.
For My Brother’s Sins Page 37