‘Don’t I know what ye mean? There was I yesterday, minding me own business, when this woman grabs hold o’ me, covers me in trifle an’ ravishes me chaste little body till it feels like it’s been through a mincing machine – an’ all I ever did to her was ask for one of her meat pies. Ah well, I suppose I’d better go while I’m still able to walk.’ He planted a smacking kiss on her cheek and rolled out of bed.
She lay back against the headboard and watched him dress, letting his glorious body imprint itself on her mind before he covered it. He took a brush from the dressing table and brought his springy hair under control, then stopped to gaze at her in the mirror. ‘You’re beautiful.’ His eyes were alight with love.
‘So are you.’
‘Men aren’t beautiful – dashing, yes.’ He grinned and warning her to wash the brickdust from the brush before using it on her own hair, returned to sit on the bed. He placed his hands on either side of her and bringing his eyes level with hers said: ‘Now, don’t shy away this time.’ She made no answer, but neither did she lower her eyes as she had done when he had approached the question before. ‘I’ve no right to ask ye, I’ve not a penny to me name – just the few shillings I’ve managed to save – an’ if ye say no then I’ll go an’ never trouble ye again – no, I’m lying; ’tis a desperate nuisance I’ll make o’ meself if ye don’t say yes. Will ye marry me, Thomasin?’
In her mind she watched all the clothes, the money, the nights at the theatre fly out of the open window, and did not even put out a hand to stop them. Then, with a small cry, she flung herself into his arms, almost strangling him in her eagerness to reply. ‘Yes, oh yes.’
‘Ye will?’ Patrick beamed delightedly. ‘My… Holy Mother, I can’t believe it. She’ll have me! Ah, Thomasin,’ a great hug, ‘I’ll try to make ye so happy. I’ll work like a legion to buy ye a nice house like this. It’ll be a long time coming but I won’t stop workin’ till I buy ye everything your heart desires.’
‘Oh, Pat, those things don’t matter. They did once, but not any more. There’s only two things I want out of life now – you an’ yer children.’
* * *
The fresh breeze caught at her hair and tossed it in gleaming strands to cover her smiling face. Thomasin withdrew her head from the open window, caught her wayward locks and secured them with a pin. Everything was lovely on this spring morning. Daffodils nodded a welcome as she looked out into the small garden below, blackbirds scuttled and pecked amongst the hyacinths, new life burgeoned within the naked trees.
Pinning a silver brooch to the blue woollen dress she wore she felt the pangs of guilt return. Her fingers touched Roland’s gift. He had given her the brooch after their first night together; now it would have to be returned. She lingered undecidedly for a moment, then unpinned the brooch and returned it to the trinket box. She fumbled with the ribbons on her bonnet, her anxious fingers refusing to obey the command from her brain. He must be faced so, taking a fortifying breath, she stepped out to meet his disapproval.
The first person she encountered on emerging from St George’s Terrace was Roland. In fact he appeared to have been waiting for her. They stood facing one another, uncertain of what to say. He knows! thought Thomasin aghast. She touched her face unconsciously in an effort to discover the signs of guilt that had told him.
‘Good morning, Thomasin.’ He doffed his top hat and took her arm. ‘May I walk you to your place of work?’
She laid her fingers on his forearm and walked beside him. ‘Yer never came last night.’
‘Ah, no,’ he replied carefully. ‘I thought perhaps my presence would be unwelcome.’
She bit her lip. ‘Yer know, don’t yer?’
A nod. ‘I saw you together last evening.’ His voice was dull. ‘I knew this would happen.’
‘Yer knew more than I did then.’
‘Don’t be flippant, my dear, this is not the time.’
‘No, yer right – oh, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt yer, Roly.’
He remained silent for a brief span, then said, ‘Of course, if you were to tell me that it was only an unfortunate lapse, I would…’
She stopped him. ‘I’m sorry, Roland, if I told yer that I’d be lyin’.’
He nodded resignedly. ‘I guessed as much. Anyone could see that the man is infatuated with you.’
‘An’ me with him,’ said Thomasin. ‘He’s asked me to marry him.’
‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy,’ he cried exasperatedly. ‘Do not do it, I beg you. What has he to offer? A one-roomed hovel, a child every year, so that by the time you are thirty you will look fifty? I can give you so much more. Please, let us go on as we were, you cannot deny that we enjoy each other’s company.’
‘No, I’ll not deny it,’ she answered. ‘But just what can yer give me, Roly? Oh aye, I know what a fine collection o’ dresses an’ things yer’ve bought me, an’ I can’t pretend yer didn’t gimme any pleasure either, yer as fine a lover as I’ve ever had.’ This was the highest compliment that she could think of. ‘But, Roland love, that’s not enough. I’ve found that out now. I love this man. I know that sounds daft cornin’ from a graspin’ bugger like me, but I don’t care that he hasn’t a sou to his name, it’s him I want, not his money. No, Roly, yer could never ’ope to gimme what he does.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Roly. I’m sorry if I’ve let yer down, but I did make it clear at the beginnin’, didn’t I?’
Roland stared at the proffered hand, then slowly clasped it between his. ‘Yes, a good clean break, that was what you said. There will be no tantrums from me, Tommy. But I suppose you do realise that I love you too?’
With a jolt she realised that he actually meant it. How blind she had been not to notice until now. But she tried, in a clumsy fashion, to lighten his loss. ‘No, you only think you do, Roly. You watch, soon as I’m round the corner yer’ll be feelin’ randy as ever an’ lookin’ out for a new playmate.’
‘Perhaps,’ he answered dubiously. ‘Nevertheless I shall miss you, and for all your fine sentiments I still say you are making a terrible error.’
‘Oh, Roly, don’t let’s part on this note. Say yer’ll forgive me an’ that we can still be friends.’
He patted her hand kindly then released it. ‘There is nothing to forgive, my dear. I realise that you must care deeply for this man, otherwise you would not be taking such a drastic step. I wish you every joy in your new life, Thomasin. Goodbye.’ He seemed about to kiss her, then thought better of it and strode away with his cane tucked firmly under his arm, as if for support.
Thomasin gave a sad little smile, then turned her back on him and his way of life forever.
Chapter Seventeen
Patrick found the sight of John’s slack-jawed disbelief highly amusing. ‘I can see it’s come as a great shock to ye, John,’ he laughed. ‘Would ye care to sit down for a few minutes over it?’
‘Yer sure this isn’t one o’ your jokes?’ asked his friend, declining Patrick’s invitation. ‘Yer really gerrin’ married?’
Patrick grinned widely. ‘I am.’
‘Well, I’ll go to ’ell,’ breathed John, then laughed. ‘By, yer crafty devil, ’ow long’s this been goin’ on an’ who’s t’lucky woman?’
‘Sure, I thought ye’d know, since ye reckoned to know so much about her.’
‘Yer don’t mean…?’ John pointed to the cake shop and Patrick nodded delightedly. ‘Yer can’t do! It was only yesterday she covered you in trifle. Yer were callin’ her from a pig to a dog.’
‘Ah, well I realised, ye see, ’twas all my fault, not being very educated in the idiosyncrasies of the female. So, I went to apologise an’ it sort o’ grew from there.’
John laughed. ‘By, yer dirty little tomcat, grew from there. Yer a fast worker – an’ she must be summat good if yer want to tie yerself down again.’
‘She is something very good, John,’ replied Patrick as he packed his haversack, ready for home. ‘Very good indeed. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a
long, long time.’
‘Very accommodatin’ too, judgin’ by the way yer goin’ on about her,’ ventured his friend slyly.
‘Hey, watch your tongue,’ ordered Patrick sharply. ‘I’ll not have that sorta talk about me future wife.’
‘I meant wi’ the free cakes,’ said John innocently, then clapped him on the back. ‘May I offer me humblest congratulations – eh, an’ I ’ope I’m invited to the weddin’?’
‘If ye behave yerself,’ replied the other, slinging his haversack over his shoulder. ‘But don’t mention it to anyone else; I’ve not told Erin yet. Hey, she’s gonna be really excited when I tell her she’s to have a new mammy. Right, John, I’m off. Goodnight, lads!’ He strode off towards home imagining the pleasure on his daughter’s face when he told her.
He was therefore taken completely by surprise at the reception that greeted his news. The five year old wore an expression of accusation. How could he have forgotten so soon? She hadn’t. It seemed like only yesterday that her mother’s lovely face had lain against hers, telling her stories and drying her tears. ‘Don’t want a new mammy!’ her bottom lip came out in defiance. ‘I’ve got you an’ Aunt Molly, I don’t need no one else.’
‘Well, there’s a fine howdyedo,’ cried her father. ‘An’ here’s me thinkin’ ye’d be pleased.’ He bent his knees and peered into her obstinate face. ‘Don’t ye want to come back home to live with me?’
‘’Course I do!’ She flung her arms round his neck. ‘But ye don’t have to bring her to live with us, d’ye?’
‘Sure, I can’t be expected to look after ye all on me own, can I?’ He ruffled her hair and walked to the window, peering out. ‘I’m out at work all day, who’d take care o’ your needs?’
‘Aunt Molly can bring my meals in,’ suggested Erin.
‘Aye, she’d like that, I’m sure, running two households. D’ye not think she’s enough to cope with?’
‘I could cook me own meals then,’ argued his daughter.
‘Ah, you’re too young, darlin’. Anyway, I’m afraid ’tis all settled now.’ Patrick’s eyes lit up as he thought of Thomasin. ‘Ye’ll like her when ye meet her, ye know. She’s real nice an’ she’s dyin’ to meet you. As a matter o’ fact …’ He looked over his shoulder to discover that he had been speaking to himself for the last thirty seconds. ‘Why, the little she-cat. Erin! Erin, come back here.’ He marched out into the yard in time to see her disappear into Molly’s and, setting his mouth in a firm line, stormed after her.
‘What’s got into ye, child?’ Molly had just finished saying. ‘Ye look as though the divil himself were after ye.’
‘An’ well he might be,’ donated Patrick coming into the room and shaking Erin’s shoulders. ‘Don’t ye know ’tis rude to walk when someone’s speakin’ to ye?’
Erin broke into racking sobs and clung to Molly’s grubby skirt.
‘God in Heaven, Patrick, what’ve ye been sayin’ to the child?’ Molly dabbed the girl’s face with a rag.
‘Sure, all I said was she’ll soon be havin’ a new mammy.’
‘Oh, Pat!’ Molly’s dirt-seamed face cracked in pleasure. ‘I never thought I’d see the day. Well, isn’t that a thing to treat the ears? When’s the weddin’ goin’ to be? What’s her name? Is she from these parts? Aw but, Pat,’ she reproved him and cuddled the child closer, ‘ye coulda put it a bit gentler to the lass. She misses her mammy somethin’ terrible, ye know.’ She stroked Erin’s hair. ‘Well, are ye goin’ to keep it a secret or do we get to know her name?’
‘Ye will if ye’ll let me get a word in edgeways,’ smiled Patrick, glad that someone was interested. ‘Her name is Thomasin Fenton an’ she’s a real bonny lady, Molly. Ye’ll like her.’
‘Is she a good Catholic?’ enquired Molly, wiping the bubbles from Erin’s nose and sitting the child on her lap.
Patrick frowned. ‘I never thought to ask – but sure, what does that matter to me? I’ve nothing to do with the church now.’
‘Ye go, don’t ye? Haven’t I seen ye there meself?’
‘Only to take Erin,’ he explained. ‘I feel I owe it to Mary to keep the child’s faith going.’
‘Ah, well ye see,’ Molly pointed out, ‘that’s why I asked if your Intended was a good Catholic. She might not be as true to Mary’s memory.’
‘No,’ he said defiantly. ‘Tommy’s not like that.’
Molly cocked her head and thought. ‘Fenton, ye say? Fenton, Fenton – I don’t seem to know that name. What part o’ the old country is she from?’
‘Ah no, Molly ye have it wrong, ‘tis not Ireland she comes from; she’s English.’
There was a shocked hiatus, then Molly threw up her bony arms in dismay. ‘Oh, Mother o’ Christ, a foreigner! How could ye ever bring yourself to do it, Pat? Oh, if poor dear Mary could see ye now she’d turn in her grave. Why, no wonder the child is upset if you’re bringin’ a foreigner into our midst.’
‘Ye daft clot,’ ridiculed Patrick. ‘How can she be a foreigner? ’Tis England we’re in – we’re the foreigners.’ He cringed as he said it. After all he had spouted about the damned English here he was marrying one of them. But then he didn’t think of Thomasin as English, she was… well… she was just Thomasin.
Molly flapped her arms in slight agreement. ‘Ah well, I take your meanin’, Pat, but ’tis the mixin’ of the blood I’m against, see. I can’t bear the thought o’ your pure Irish blood being tainted, like.’
‘Rubbish!’ shouted Patrick, his patience beginning to fray. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Thomasin’s blood, ’tis as pure as your own.’
‘I dare say it is,’ replied Molly, then added wisely, ‘but ’tis English blood.’
‘Well, English or no, ye’re goin’ to have to get used to it, the pair o’ yese, ’cause I’m off to marry her an’ there’s an end to it.’ He glared at Erin who sucked her thumb and curled a lock of her hair around her finger, keeping close to her ally.
‘Ye’ll be bringin’ her here, then?’ Molly’s lips pursed into an unforgiving button.
‘Hah!’ Patrick took a swipe at the wall, sending a shower of flaking distemper to the floor. ‘I will not. It’ll be something better than this for Thomasin.’
‘’Twas good enough for Mary,’ objected Molly. ‘An’ I’ll thank ye to stop knockin’ me house to bits.’
‘An’ I’ll thank you not to keep bringing Mary into this,’ he countered angrily. ‘Mary’s dead.’ He brushed the flakes from his knuckles.
‘Have ye no thought for the child, ye great galoot?’ cried Molly, pointing at Erin’s shaking shoulders. ‘D’ye have to be so brutal?’
‘Oh, God I’m sorry.’ He bent to pick Erin up but she shied away. ‘Look, Molly, all I meant was that Thomasin isn’t Mary. If ye could see the house she’s livin’ in at the moment ye’d not ask why I’m reluctant to bring her here.’
‘Too good for the likes of us, is she?’ sneered Molly.
‘She’s not like that at all,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll tell ye the same as I told milady there,’ he bobbed his head at Erin, ‘ye’re sure to like her when ye meet her.’
‘Oh, we are goin’ to meet her, then?’ it was delivered sarcastically. ‘I was beginning to think ye were ashamed of us.’
‘Don’t talk crazy. As a matter o’ fact she’s promised to come walking with me an’ Erin on Sunday – tomorrow. I’ll bring her to meet ye.’
Molly sniffed. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘I’m not going,’ declared Erin.
‘You’ll do as you’re damn-well told.’ Patrick pointed a finger at his daughter. Damn them, damn them all. Why did they have to spoil his happiness? His mind wandered to Thomasin; what would she be doing now? One thing was certain, she would not be enduring the same hostility as himself.
* * *
A sharp knock at the door caused Hannah Fenton to ask of her husband, ‘Who can that be at this hour?’
William slapped his newspaper onto his knee. ‘In case thee hadn’t notic
ed, me eyes are stuck on ’ere,’ he indicated his face, ‘not on t’other side o’ bloody door.’
‘William, language please.’ It was Hannah’s constant bewailment that he could neither praise nor damn without an expletive.
‘Well, tha’s not likely to find out lest y’answer t’blasted thing.’ William reached for his pipe to produce clouds of tobacco smoke, at which his wife swiped with a dishclout before answering the door.
When the visitor was not spontaneously admitted William craned his neck. ‘Well, who is it, woman?’
Hannah glanced at him vaguely. ‘It’s your daughter.’ Thomasin had always been ‘your daughter’ having inherited William’s lax morals and earthy language.
‘Well, esta started chargin’ admission fees? Away in, lass!’ he bawled to Thomasin and, when she warily edged her way past her mother, ‘Fancy knockin’ on thy own door, soft bugger.’
She took off her shawl as her straight-faced mother closed the door. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.’ There had been uproar from her mother when she had announced she was going to live with Roland.
‘What, just ’cause tha’s been livin’ over t’brush? Soft ’aporth, this is still thy ’ome. Hannah, get kettle on. Away an’ sit down, Tommy.’
Hannah, a prim woman in lace cap and sombre clothing, made no move to comply. ‘I see you’ve brought your bags with you. He’s tired of you, then?’
Thomasin made no answer as she took a seat by the fire. It was a cosy room for all her mother’s aloofness.
‘Questions later, Mother,’ said William firmly. ‘An’ didst not ’ear? I said we’d have kettle on. Now then, lass,’ he pulled his chair closer to hers, ‘Howsta been?’
Though being some man’s mistress was hardly what William would have chosen for his favourite daughter he had never condemned, further than to tell her she was a soft bugger for doing it. If she was frightened of being left on the shelf she was going the wrong way about remedying it – no one was partial to another man’s leavings. Essentially a man of the Dales, bluntness came naturally to him – uncouthness, that’s what his wife termed it. Not that she didn’t have affection for him nor he for her, but they were just totally different. It was for Hannah he had consented to move to the city and earn his living at the cocoa factory instead of at the loom. Hannah with mannerisms and ambitions far above her class had decreed that she wanted something better for her daughters than farmhands and labourers – and so she had, for all except this one; the other four had made excellent marriages.
A Long Way from Heaven Page 16