A Long Way from Heaven

by A Long Way from Heaven (retail) (epub)

  Patrick gazed at the transformation. How like her mother she was, he thought, watching Hannah brush the raven hair, and what a difference from the child he had presented to Thomasin six years ago. He leaned over to kiss her cheek but Hannah pushed him away.

  ‘Patrick, have a care! I have taken great pains in choosing this dress and I am not going to allow you to crush it.’ She tied a blue ribbon in the silky hair. ‘There, dear.’ She was more charitable towards Erin these days. ‘Who would guess that you came from anything other than the best home?’ The charity did not extend to Patrick, who parried with his own slice of irony.

  ‘An’ who knows, Hannah, she might get such a taste for the high life that she won’t lower herself to talk to the likes o’ you.’

  ‘Tha’d best be off, Pat,’ said William, forestalling another cutting remark from Hannah. ‘It’s a fair way to go. How’s tha gonna get there, any road?’

  ‘I thought we’d give the old shanks a little exercise.’

  ‘You cannot possibly walk all that way,’ exclaimed Hannah. ‘What sort of condition will you be in when you arrive? If you haven’t the money for transport I am sure that William…’

  ‘Of course I’ve the money,’ he cut in. ‘Sure, I just didn’t know how far it was, that’s all.’

  ‘Tha’s sure?’ asked William.

  ‘I’m sure,’ vouchsafed Patrick. ‘Don’t ye know I’m coming up in the world? I have me own business now, ye know.’

  Hannah sniffed. ‘Not a very reputable one if that partner of yours is anything to go by.’ She was pleased that she had not been forced to suffer John’s presence on this visit; he made her feel so uneasy.

  ‘Nay, t’lad’s all reet,’ said William, before Patrick could spring to his friend’s defence. ‘He can’t help lookin’ like that.’

  Dickie prevented any further character assassination by tripping over the edge of the rug and once more banging his head on the table.

  ‘By gum, lad,’ William scooped up his grandson, ‘if tha keeps this up tha face’ll look like an ordnance map by t’end o’ week wi’ all them bruises.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave him to your care, Billy,’ said Patrick, reaching for Erin’s hand. ‘We’d just better go say goodbye to Tommy.’

  Thomasin met them with apathetic eyes. ‘Have a good time,’ she said unconvincingly.

  Patrick was worried about his wife’s low spirits. Nothing he said seemed to interest her – she just lay there staring at the ceiling. ‘We could always stay at home.’

  She was instantly guilty at having dampened Erin’s obvious excitement. ‘What, with Erin all dressed in her finery an’ nobody to show her off to? Get away wi’ yer. I’ll be all right, honest.’ She managed a smile as Erin kissed her. ‘Yer look lovely, Erin, really lovely.’

  But once they were through the door she sank back into her previous wretchedness.

  * * *

  Much later, Patrick and his daughter arrived at the gates of Dunworthe Hall. Luckily the weather had been kind as they had had to walk further than they had imagined, the transport they had chosen stopping far short of their destination. To Patrick the miles meant nothing, but he could tell that Erin was beginning to tire, for once or twice he had to stop her from stumbling over the cart ruts in the rough, country lane.

  He hesitated briefly at the imposing appearance of the great house then, dragging Erin after him, marched up the long approach to the front entrance. The liveried footman nearly suffered an apoplexy when he opened the door and saw the pair. When he regained his equilibrium he jabbed a white-gloved thumb to the left and told them, ‘Servants’ entrance, round the back.’

  ‘We’re not servants,’ frowned Patrick, but the door was already closed in his face. Although annoyed at the majestical command he obeyed the footman’s instructions. On knocking at the servants’ entrance he was admitted by a giggling maid; the news had apparendy already reached the kitchen. ‘Lord Herleigh asked us to call.’ He flourished the invitation, bringing forth another gale of laughter.

  ‘Oo, hark how the dogs do bark,’ she chortled, then made a mocking curtsey. ‘Pray come in, sir, how h’extremely honoured we h’are to have you here.’

  Erin clung to her father’s hand, bewildered and taken aback by their treatment, until the cook, a kindly soul, chased away the maid and bade them sit by the fire while someone went to enquire as to their orders.

  The kitchen resumed its hectic air as the seven other maids completed preparations for the evening. How could anyone need so many servants? marvelled Patrick.

  Five minutes later the same footman who had closed the door in their faces came down and announced that Erin was to accompany him upstairs.

  ‘Not you.’ He put a restraining hand on Patrick’s arm, then quickly removed it on noting the spark in the Irishman’s eye. ‘His Lordship only wishes to see the girl,’ he explained hastily.

  Patrick gave a reassuring nod to Erin and held out her harp which he had carried for her. ‘Go with the man, darlin’. I’ll be here when ye get back.’

  But when she returned to the kitchen Erin was not as excited as she had been on setting out. The people upstairs seemed not to consider her a person like themselves, only an object for their amusement. They had not even asked her name or how old she was like the friends of her parents would have done.

  ‘They’re not like us, Erin,’ said Patrick to her question. ‘They think we’re not as good as them, just ’cause they’ve got money.’ He nudged her. ‘But we know better, don’t we? We’re as good, if not better than them. I’ll wager none of those folk upstairs could play a harp as well as you, for all their fancy talk.’

  He was right, of course, thought Erin, but the adventure had gone flat. In a little while the cook put before them a delicious tea of buttered scones, crumpets, gingerbread and cake which all helped to soothe her bruised spirits. It was almost worth coming for the tea alone, said Patrick who up till then had been feeling most annoyed that his new outfit had been an unnecessary purchase; all that hard-earned cash for nothing. But the cook seemed to appreciate his smartness for she kept plying him with mountains of goodies until he begged her to stop or she would have to answer to his wife for his straining buttons.

  After tea Erin offered to help Cook wash the pots as she did at home.

  ‘Well, bless my soul,’ cried the cook. ‘What a good little thing you are. But, no, you sit there, we’ve got our own girl what does the washing up, and you don’t want to spoil that pretty dress, do you?’ She bellowed for the scullion to clear the table and ordered Patrick to sit down by the fire again where the two of them could have a nice chat while the underlings went off to change aprons. She settled into her chair and smiled at Patrick. What a lovely man – such a pity he was married.

  * * *

  The orchestra’s discordant tones as its members tuned their instruments crept down to the kitchen where Patrick waited, more than a little put out. He had not expected to mix with the guests, but surely they could have allowed him upstairs, somewhere out of sight, to listen to his own daughter play. Erin had long since been marched away to receive instructions. Now, as the orchestra sprang into life, she sat nervously in the wings, awaiting her début. She was unfamiliar with the piece that was being played but soon found herself swaying to the rhythm and almost forgetting her apprehension for a while.

  Then all at once the symphony came to an end and as the members of the orchestra sat back in their seats, Erin was given a hefty shove by someone unseen and came to land in front of the sparkling audience. The splendour of the ladies’ gowns, coupled with the brilliance of the crystal chandelier that hung in glittering festoons over their heads, dazzled Erin into stupefaction. She stood there trembling, gripping her harp, forgetting why she was there, until the conductor leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder with his baton. She then sat down on the chair provided and began to play. Then, as always, she became lost in her music and all tension vanished as she immersed her soul in the melody. />
  Downstairs, Cook was listening with Patrick to the faint chords. ‘Ah, it brings tears to your eyes. What a shame you couldn’t be up there to hear her properly.’ Then a sudden thought struck her and she nudged him. ‘Listen, I’ve just thought: if you use that staircase, there,’ she pointed, ‘you’ll be able to see her through the banisters; those stairs overlook the ballroom.’

  ‘What’ll I say if anyone catches me?’ asked Patrick, rising eagerly to his feet.

  ‘Nobody’ll catch you. There’s only the staff what uses that staircase an’ they’re all far too busy to notice you. Go on, off with you.’

  Patrick gave her his flashing smile and, thanking her profusely, made his way slowly up the staircase. As Cook had said, he had a perfect view of his daughter through the banisters. The room below was a-dazzle, making him wish Tommy could be here to see it all, or better still that she could be part of it. The harp’s dulcet tones meandered round the ballroom where the guests sat entranced. He settled down to watch and listen.

  ‘My word, what have we here?’ The softly uttered words startled him and he jumped up, nearly bowling the woman off her feet.

  ‘Ah, may I assume from your expression of guilt that you should not be here; that I have caught you out?’ As she spoke he had the strange impression of a honeypot being upturned over his head and the golden syrup dripping stickily over his shoulders.

  ‘I was…’ he faltered, silenced by the brazen eyes that roamed his body.

  She stood with her weight on one foot, so that one of her hips jutted out provocatively, and wafted her face with an ornate fan. ‘Do not be alarmed, my dear, I am not going to let your little secret out. I have simply come to join you as I was growing rather bored with the company below. It is far more interesting up here.’

  Tired of the music, the woman had suddenly spied the handsome face that peeked between the banisters. Making her excuses to her companion she had slipped away to take a closer look. The view was even better from here, and although the man’s apparel bespoke his humble lifestyle his good looks and strong body doubly compensated for any lack of breeding. It was so long since she had had such a pleasant diversion — and one had to take the opportunity when it arose. She took a step closer.

  Patrick stepped back and felt the balustrade against his rear.

  ‘Surely I do not frighten a big fellow like you?’ purred the woman, raising a scented hand to his cheek. Her perfume tantalised his nostrils, filling his head with all kinds of thoughts. He cursed his boyish behaviour; women did not normally have this effect on him — but then this was no ordinary woman. Her beauty surpassed even Mary’s. From her golden curls to her tiny, doll-like feet in their satin slippers she oozed femininity. Her voluptuous body pressed itself to his, spurred on by his obvious arousal. She lifted her face for his kiss and he tasted her sweetness. Taking his hand she led him further into the shadows.

  ‘Come, let us seek somewhere more comfortable. I feel sure we can find a more enjoyable pastime than listening to this rubbish.’

  Her words broke the spell that she had woven so expertly around him. Erin’s harp chastised him – how could he? How could he have thought to make love to this woman while Thomasin lay sick and alone? The woman must be a witch to have driven every thought of his wife from his head. He broke free. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Come now.’ She pressed herself against him once more. ‘You will get far more pleasure with me than from listening to that little slut.’

  He felt the heat of her hand at his groin and sprang away as if fouled by her touch. ‘That slut as you call her happens to be my daughter.’

  ‘Oh, la!’ She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Forgive my little faux pas; it was merely a jest. Come now, do not be angry with little Helly.’ She pouted and inclined towards him, making him suddenly aware of the heavy stench of liquor and he wondered why he had not noticed it before; the woman was drunk.

  God, she was like a bitch in heat, he thought, staring coldly at the exquisite face. Underneath all those fancy clothes she was nothing more than a high-class strumpet. He started to go but she blocked his way.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Oh no, darling, you are not to escape so lightly.’ She hopped from side to side, evading his departure. ‘Now that I have you cornered I am going to make full use of your attributes. Oh come, do not be so cruel. Can you not see that I ache for you?’

  At this Patrick grabbed her by the upper arm and snarled into her face. ‘Woman, I’ve never lain with a whore in me life an’ I don’t intend to start now.’ With that he thrust her aside and dashed down the staircase.

  The sound of Erin’s harp followed him to the foot of the stairs, as did the woman’s mocking laughter. But though she laughed her eyes were flint-like with the anger of rejection. How dare he? She swayed drunkenly. It appeared that Helena Cummings would have to find her pleasure elsewhere tonight.

  * * *

  The unlit country lanes made for a creepy journey home, doing nothing to lighten the anger which still smouldered beneath Patrick’s apparently cheerful exterior. Erin also was not entirely happy with the evening. Though the ladies and gentlemen had applauded enthusiastically their admiration was patronising, as if it were a miracle that someone of her class could play at all. Still, she clutched three shiny coins in her fist. Hopefully they would cheer Thomasin.

  At home, the boys had long been a-bed, albeit not asleep. They had passed a pleasant afternoon with their grandparents, even though Grandma was inclined to spoil things somewhat. Grandad, on the other hand had let them do as they pleased, within reason. He had not been cross when Sonny had leaned too far over a sheep pen at the cattle market and had fallen among the bleating creatures, emerging, as Grandad put it, smelling like a poke of devils. Grandma had been outraged and had plunged the child into a bath, complaining to Grandad that her resolution to see the boys become perfect gentlemen was being eroded by his total lack of breeding.

  ‘D’ye mean like Uncle John breeds his ferrets?’ asked Dickie as she put them to bed.

  ‘Most certainly not!’ Really, the things that man was filling their minds with. ‘Now go to sleep at once and do not waken your mother with your chattering.’

  Thomasin however was not asleep; she lay in the darkened room wondering what Pat and Erin were doing now. The depression crept in a black tide across her sleepless mind. It made her want to die.

  But then her true spirit rebelled, refused to be submerged in the vortex of despair and came bobbing to the surface to clutch at straws of hope. She must count the good things in her life: the loving, steadfast husband who said that he lived only for her; the three fine children whom she must put before the one she had just lost. There and then she decided that this would be her last day in bed. She must find plenty of work to take her mind off events past. After all, what had she wanted with another child anyway? No, she must do her best for the ones she already had. She shook the cobwebs from her mind and violently plumped the pillow. Taking a hairbrush from the dressing table she pulled it through her tangled, lank hair, swearing at the lugs that fought against her. Then, straightening the sheets she awaited Patrick’s homecoming.

  ‘Nah then, didst ’ave a good time?’ bawled William, shoving Erin before the fire to warm herself.

  Patrick replied that they had. ‘I danced with her ladyship an’ a fine gentleman asked for Erin’s hand in marriage.’

  ‘Soft bugger, walk ’ome,’ scoffed William. ‘If tha dun’t want to tell us…’ he waved his hand in dismissal.

  Patrick grinned. ‘Oh, I don’t mind telling ye, ’twasn’t what we expected.’ He related the events of the evening, carefully omitting the episode with the mysterious female.

  ‘I’m sure Erin found it more to her taste,’ said Hannah.

  To which the girl replied, ‘Well, the ladies’ dresses an’ jewels were very pretty, an’ the Hall was enormous with great big glittery things like glass hanging from the ceiling. An’ there was all this lovely food – mind, we
never got none o’ that although we did have a lovely tea. Then there was loads o’ pictures around the walls, an’ the furniture all had fancy gold bits on it. But,’ she decided pensively, ‘I think I’d rather live here; even though we haven’t loads o’ money we’ve plenty o’ friends. Those ladies an’ gentlemen didn’t seem like real people somehow. ’Twas like being in a dream! Nobody seemed to notice you were there, they just carried on eatin’ an’ talkin’ around ye like ye didn’t exist. An’ I’ll tell ye something else: when it comes to looks none o’ them could hold a candle to Mammy or Daddy.’

  Patrick hugged the tired child with a surge of paternal pride. ‘There y’are, Hannah, some folk realise the value of a happy home. We don’t need your high-class baubles an’ fancy talk.’

  Hannah bristled. ‘Happy home, you say? Hah! My daughter did not look too happy the last time I looked in upon her, in fact she looked positively melancholy. While you were out gallivanting she was lying there brooding over her circumstances.’

  ‘But that’s unfair,’ protested Patrick. ‘I was quite prepared to stay at home, ’twas you who urged us to go – an’ so did Tommy, come to that.’

  ‘Well, of course she would, wouldn’t she? Thomasin is so unselfish, she must be to put up with all the hurt you have caused her.’

  ‘Hurt? What’re ye talking about, hurt?’

  ‘I would have thought it patently obvious that it is the squalor in which you have condemned her to live which has resulted in her condition. She would never have lost the child had she been in a more sympathetic environment. I told her what would happen if she married a pauper, but would she listen?’

  ‘Hannah!’ barked William. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘’Tis too late now, Billy,’ said Patrick bitterly. ‘What’s said cannot be unsaid – an’ ’tis nothing I didn’t already know. You look down on me, Hannah, because I’m Irish an’ because I’m poor. Ye cannot see through your own blind ambitions that Thomasin loves me for what I am – as I love her. But one day I’m going to make ye change your mind, not as ye might imagine by taking her to live in a mansion, but by proving to ye that two people can be happy without a potful o’ money.’ He turned to Erin. ‘Erin darlin’, I think ye should go tell your mammy what ye’ve just told us; it might make her feel happier. Pray God one of us should.’