Many hours later, she collapsed into bed beside Alice. It felt as though she had been there for a week – a month even – not one single day. However, she was not to be allowed any rest for Alice wanted to talk. Now, snuggling under the blankets with the older girl Erin received a true insight of what life was really like in the big house.
‘Such goings on,’ whispered Alice, putting her cold feet against Erin’s legs. ‘The mistress has a string o’ fellas – ’cause they don’t bother with one another, her an’ the master. An’ he’s a rum’n an’ all, always winking at me. I shall have to be very careful o’ my virtue. I often expect him to come creepin’ into bed of a night after his oats. I hear he’s very fond of his oats, is the master.’
Erin was thoroughly confused now. Why should the master want to eat oats in bed? Was it not a little messy?
Alice laughed gleefully. ‘Hasn’t yer mother told you anything?’ She reached up to snuff the candle and in the privacy of darkness introduced Erin to the intricacies of human nature.
Erin was disgusted, revolted. ‘I’m not going to do that when I grow up.’
‘You just wait,’ chuckled Alice. ‘How d’you think you came about then? Certainly not from under a gooseberry bush.’
Erin was silent. She knew where babies came from, but never for one moment did she believe that her parents had indulged in such actions – and certainly not for enjoyment as Alice so obviously implied.
‘Put yer arms round me, I’m cold,’ commanded Alice. This Erin did. Alice shoved her bottom against Erin’s warm belly and, pulling the child’s hands up to her breast, tried to sleep.
In the bedroom directly below theirs Helena stared into the darkness from her pretty, canopied bed, wondering what her husband was up to. He had not returned home yet, but that was not unusual. Often he did not arrive until well after she was asleep, if at all. He would likely be bouncing on some willing trollop. The thought made her annoyed even though she no longer cared for him. It was merely the thought of him enjoying himself while she lay here alone that was irksome. Grumpily she turned over and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to blank out the erotic pictures.
Rose lay in her bed thinking of tomorrow’s menu, then yawned and, accompanied by a groan of complaint from the sagging mattress, turned over and fell instantly alseep.
Below, in a small room off the kitchen, Johnson had been asleep for some time.
Only Erin remained awake, too exhausted for sleep. Alice grunted and moaned in her dreams, and pulled Erin’s hand closer to her breasts. Erin felt the hard nipple thrust against her palm and, deriving a primeval comfort, she leaned her head against Alice’s shoulder and finally achieved unconsciousness.
Chapter Forty-six
The following months brought no lightening of Erin’s workload – quite the reverse in fact. Her days seemed to be filled with an endless mountain of dirty crockery, unmade beds, slop buckets. She cleaned the kitchen range over and over in her sleep, only to find it once again thick with grease in the morning. She ploughed mechanically through her work with heavy eyelids and stiff arms like an automaton, until the time came when she could throw herself into bed and catch a few, blessed hours’ respite.
She gained no benefit from her spare time, for when her evening off came around it was spent hurrying between Mass – due to Helena’s disinclination to allow her to go on Sundays – and making brief visits to her home.
Patrick and Thomasin had been horrified at her appearance on the first visit. Her face, though naturally pale, looked more like that of a middle-aged woman than a young girl. Her father had immediately forbidden her to go back – they would sell something and pay back the advanced wages – but with an inherited stubbornness she had stated that, like himself, she would not have her integrity questioned; she had taken her money in advance and therefore must see the year out. The secret smile she gave Thomasin when saying this cut to the quick.
However hard, one gets used to anything after a time and slowly Erin became acquainted with the routine. Alice had found an admirer and though it was very awkward sneaking out to meet him it made life all the more exhilarating, thereby putting her in a better frame of mind.
Rose was quite happy with Erin’s performance now that she had a good grasp of the work rota, and even let her help with the baking sometimes – allowing her membership to the cook’s book of secrets, which contained such items as using best butter to increase the amount of dripping from the roast which she then sold at the door for a nice profit.
Even Johnson’s attitude showed a slight improvement, though Erin could not say that he liked her or that she liked him but as long as she did her work he remained quite civil.
There was, however, one person in the house who would never soften to Erin’s presence. Helena, still convinced that Erin was Roland’s child, continued her single-minded persecution. At their every encounter she would find some excuse, however shallow, to scold the child, choosing a time when Roland was present so that he should witness the folly of his loose-living. Poor Erin’s arms were black and blue from all the nips she had received from her mistress and, despite the other servants’ reaffirmation that Helena treated them all as badly, the little Irish girl knew that for some reason of her own the mistress hated her.
The one ray of sunshine in this life of drudgery was the hourly lesson she received each afternoon. No longer did she have to listen enviously on her home visits when her younger brothers would boast of their attainments at school. Now she was able to match their abilities and with each week surpass them. Unchained, her intellect devoured the books with which she was provided, gobbling up each grain of knowledge and proving to be more than a match for Caroline.
Roland had said nothing to his wife about the lessons. For himself he could not see the harm in them, but knew that Helena would object most strongly. At this moment of the day he was thinking of Tommy. Oh, he had found a new playmate as she had forecast – a handful of them in fact – but none was quite so exciting after her. He wasn’t sure he could even be bothered to meet his current mistress tonight, which was why Helena found herself accompanied at the dinner table, much to her surprise.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ she asked, raising her wine glass to delicate rose-petal lips.
‘Pleasure, my dear?’ Roland feigned astonishment.
‘I speak figuratively of course,’ she replied blandly.
‘Of course, of course,’ nodded Roland, selecting a cluster of grapes from the fruit bowl. ‘Well, my dear, it is simply that I am feeling rather too tired to venture out tonight and thought perhaps I might retire early. I have been working too hard of late. The rest will do me good.’ He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin to conceal a smile.
She watched him select a cigar and sink into an armchair with his brandy. ‘You say you will retire early; will you be expecting anyone to join you?’
‘Do my ears deceive me? Are you inviting yourself into my bed?’
‘I most certainly am not.’ Helena did not appreciate his joke.
‘Then to whom do you refer, my dear?’ Roland curled the cigar smoke around his tongue.
She ignored this to tell him, ‘You may goad me all you wish, dearest,’ – the endearment sounded as if she were wiping dung-caked boots on him – ‘but I should like you to bear in mind that my ability to overlook your decadent habits when they occur outside this house does not extend to those few occasions when you are under this roof. I will tolerate no lewd behaviour in my home. You know how the servants gossip and I would not have my daughter submitted to…’
‘Your daughter?’ Roland’s surprise was real. ‘Since when have you been concerned with Caroline’s welfare? You have persistently ignored her since the day she was born. She is now fourteen years of age and you suddenly decide that you want to be a mother.’
‘I admit that I may not have shown as much interest as I might have done,’ allowed Helena. ‘But that was purely because I believed her to be happier with a nurse
– you know how awkward I am with young children.’ She waved a small hand. ‘But pray, do not let us digress from the pertinent subject. What we have been speaking of is all in the past and I intend to remedy any unintended hurt our daughter may have suffered quite shortly.’
‘In what way?’
‘As you say, our daughter is now fourteen, an impressionable age, one at which she must be advised and schooled in various matters. She will soon be a young lady with thoughts of marriage. A mother must be there to mould and steer her in the right direction. After considerable soul-searching I have decided that I must put aside my admittedly selfish pursuits and dedicate my attention to her well-being.’
There had been a great deal of consideration on Helena’s part. She had thought about the matter very carefully indeed and had come to the conclusion that Caroline, with her virginal beauty, could become her mother’s passport to higher circles. For however often Helena may have told her daughter that she was ugly, it was merely a cruel lie designed to wound. Even Helena was not so self-deceiving that she could not see that the girl would be a great draw for the gentlemen. The first steps towards shaping Caroline’s future would involve sending her away to a suitable school. The young governess was very efficient but was hardly qualified to teach Helena’s daughter how to conduct herself when mixing with lords and ladies.
Roland started as Helena voiced her intentions to dispense with the governess. ‘And what if Caroline does not wish for all this?’ he asked when she had outlined her arrangements. ‘She may be quite happy to marry a lawyer as you did.’ Helena was astounded at this preposterous conjecture. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. She will leap at the chance to improve her status. Apart from which she has very little choice in the matter. I, as her mother, have already designated what is best for her.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ queried Roland. ‘Am I not to be consulted? I am her father.’
‘Are you?’ There was an insinuating twinkle in Helena’s eye.
But Roland waved aside the innuendo. ‘You know very well I am. You would not have married me otherwise. Do I not have a say in her upbringing? You have always left it to me in the past.’
Knowing that Roland would put a stop to her plans if he discovered her true motives, Helena injected a fawning tone to her voice. ‘Surely your last statement proves my point? You have had to bear the responsibility alone for fourteen years, is it not time I began to act like a mother?’
‘I have long ago given up hoping for that, Helena.’
‘Please, Roland, give me a chance to prove to you that I am thinking only of our daughter’s happiness – as you should be. She must come first, I realise that now. We must do all we can to ensure that, unlike ourselves, Caroline makes a suitable marriage.’
‘Our ideas on marriage may differ somewhat.’
‘I think you will support my idea when I tell you my choice.’ She then told him of her plan to invite the Snaith-Buxbridges to dinner one evening. ‘It is time Caroline was given an airing, to show people what a beautiful daughter we have.’
‘I have always subscribed to that idea,’ said Roland. ‘But Caroline is young yet. It is a little premature to be seeking a marriage partner for her.’
‘What nonsense! It is never too early to introduce one’s daughter to respectable society. Come, Roland, don’t spoil it for her.’
He swallowed his brandy and, placing the glass on a silver tray, rose abruptly. Did Helena think she fooled him with her fake concern? He had known her too long to believe she had anything other than her own interests at heart. ‘I regret I cannot give your propositions my undivided attention tonight, Helena. I am quite worn out. However, I will leave the arrangements for Caroline’s future to your discretion on the understanding that the question of marriage is postponed until she is much older.’
‘But I can invite the Snaith-Buxbridges?’
A tired nod. ‘And now goodnight.’
Part Five
Chapter Forty-seven
Summer… when the children of more budget-conscious mothers cast off their boots and ran barefoot. When front doors were wedged open from dawn to dusk and curtains hung in their stead. When the butter spread a little easier and grandmothers hauled their chairs on to the pavement, to sit and watch the world at play while the sun comforted their brittle bones.
Yet in the schoolyard where the boys assembled for their physical training ordeal, Brother Simon Peter’s cold, codfish gaze made it seem more like the depths of winter. His icy scorn, as his eyes ran up and down the lines of unwilling participants, made them shiver, and suddenly the sun, as though intimidated, retired behind a cloud to leave the yard in shadow.
The blubbery lips quivered as Brother Simon Peter’s eyes came to rest on Sonny. This damnable boy. Even after several months of savage beatings, the severity of which increased with each misdemeanour, the boy was as wilful and obstinate as ever. Not one tear had he cried. Though his lips were often beaded with blood from the extreme punishments, his eyes remained dry and defiant. Brother Simon Peter squinted threateningly into those seemingly innocent grey eyes which returned his inspection ievelly. Sonny was wondering what delight the master had up his sleeve today.
The teacher finally spoke. ‘Pay attention, you odious collection of offal. Today’s lesson is designed to test your stamina. It is what might be termed a cross-country run, but as I am reluctant to unleash such savages on the unsuspecting yokels your journey will take the following route. You will run, I repeat run, down Walmgate, go under the Bar, turn right…’ he broke off and addressed Sonny out of habit. ‘I assume, Feeney, that you do know which is your right? Pray hold up your right hand.’
Sonny, unsure, slowly raised his left hand.
‘Well, that is no more than I expected,’ replied the master tiredly. ‘Can anyone tell this imbecile which is his right hand?’
The few boys who did know were nervous of putting up their hands for fear of being thought goody-goodies.
The master sighed heavily. ‘I wish someone would tell me how I am supposed to educate a class of morons who do not even know their right from their left. When you have gone under the Bar you will turn this way.’ He swung out his right hand, catching the child who was unfortunate enough to be standing next to him a vicious clout on the ear. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Brother.’
‘From there you will follow the line of the Walls until you reach Fishergate Postern, and from there you will return to school.’ He spoke pointedly at Sonny. ‘I will brook no short cuts under Fishergate Bar, nor any shirking. Any boy who is not back within three minutes of the leader will be punished. Shaughnessy, lead on.’
The boys jogged out of the playground, accompanied by the faint sound of girlish singing from the female side of the school and the slightly off-key piano playing of Sister Mary. They spilled into Walmgate, a motley selection of ruffians. Forty pale, scab-encrusted faces bobbed up and down, the ragged edges of their trousers dangling above darned socks. The dust eddied around their plodding feet and soon even those who were not wearing boots looked as though they were. The hot sun bore down upon them, turning their faces from white to pink to red. Their hair became plastered in cowlicks to glistening foreheads; but they ran on.
Before they had reached Walmgate Bar, Dickie began to flounder and gradually fell further to the back of the heaving serpent of bodies.
Sonny looked over his shoulder. ‘Come on, Dick, they’ll be leavin’ us behind.’
‘Bugger ’em,’ puffed Dickie and slowed to a casual gait. ‘I’ve had enough o’ this lark. ’Tis too hot. I say we take a short cut.’
Sonny and George who had also stopped, stared at Dickie then back at the line of bobbing heads which trickled into the distance. ‘I don’t think we should,’ was Sonny’s opinion. ‘Ye heard what he said about short cuts.’
‘Ah, sure ye know he’ll give ye a hiding anyway,’ retorted Dickie. ‘He don’t need no excuses. Can ye tell me of any lesson where
ye’ve not had one?’
Sonny could not, but said reprovingly,’ ’Tis fine for you to talk, you’re not the one who gets the beatings. If he should catch us…’
‘He’ll not catch us,’ scoffed Dickie. ‘The man can’t be hiding around every corner can he? We’re bound to be able to get back into school one road without he sees us – but if you’re scared.’ He pretended to run on, fully aware that it would rile his brother.
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, did I?’ replied Sonny hotly. ‘I just meant what if we’re back too soon? He’ll know.’
‘We won’t be,’ promised Dickie. ‘We’ll hang around for a while, go an’ see what old Bacon Neck’s up to.’ This was the name with which they had dubbed Edwin Raper, his skin being the very colour of boiled bacon.
His two compatriots finally agreed and, making sure that they were unobserved, they slipped down the narrow passageway to Britannia Yard.
‘Eh, look,’ whispered Sonny, delving into one of the bins that stood outside the abattoir and holding up his prize. ‘Hens’ heads.’
‘Well, if there’s no more ye’ll have to share ’em with me,’ ordered his brother, rummaging in the bin, then crowed noisily as he found something more interesting. ‘Ey, we’ll have a bit o’ fun wi’ these! We can shove ’em down t’lasses’ necks.’ He thrust his hand into the bin again. ‘Let’s see how many there is, we can sell ’em for a ha’penny each.’ He pulled out another brace of hens’ claws and waved them in George’s face.
George retreated slightly, then bent to peep through the cracks in the abattoir doors. Inside, the murky shadow that was Edwin Raper had just administered the coup de grace to a steer which was suspended from a hook in the roof. The boy watched quiveringly as the animal was skinned and disembowelled.
‘Ugh, look at that.’ George was unable to contain his disgust as the butcher’s knife drew a deep incision along the lifeless belly, sending miles of tangled intestines slithering to the dirty floor. Grey, blue, red, brown, green, almost every colour under the sun lay upon that floor. George thought he was going to be sick but couldn’t tear himself away.
A Long Way from Heaven Page 48