A Long Way from Heaven

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

  Helena did not reply — she did not have to… the suggestive, pouting mouth told volumes without ever parting in speech.

  For one moment she saw murder in his eyes and the terror returned, but she need not have been afraid; she was not to be the recipient of his wrath. As quickly as he had entered he was gone, barging into Alice on his way out and knocking the pile of linen from her arms.

  Helena gave a long sigh and followed him from the room to make certain he had left the house. ‘Get out of my way!’ She kicked at Alice with an impatient foot. ‘And what is that linen doing on the floor?’

  Alice mumbled that the Irishman had made her drop it.

  ‘Ah, and I suppose you were at the door eavesdropping,’ guessed Helena. Deliberately she placed her foot on the sparkling linen, ground it into the carpet, then gave it a disparaging toss with her toe. ‘That linen is positively filthy, Benson,’ she said lightly. ‘It will all have to be washed again.’

  A sly smile took over her face as she went upstairs. What fun and games there would be in the Feeney household when the oaf got home.

  * * *

  Patrick strode purposefully towards home, disregarding the complaints as he elbowed aside all who crossed his path. How could he have been such a fool not to see it? He had believed her, trusted her, how could she have lied so coolly when she said she loved him, when all the time she had a lover stashed away? – Just hold on a minute there, Pat, he told himself, are ye not jumping to conclusions? Would you go believing that woman’s insinuations before your own wife has a chance to speak? Give her a chance to defend herself. Don’t go thinking the worst all the time. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her taking money from that man… but what of the money Erin was supposed to have brought home every month? There was still that to answer.

  Outside his front door he paused, wanting to know the truth yet scared of hearing it.

  Thomasin looked up as the door slammed. ‘Well?’ she said eagerly.

  ‘Erin, go upstairs.’ He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

  Wordlessly, Erin obeyed.

  ‘My God,’ breathed Thomasin. ‘Yer’ve not gone an’ done for her?’

  ‘An’ tell me, why would I want to do that, Thomasin?’ he asked stiffly. ‘When the woman’s been so helpful, so enlightening.’

  ‘Patrick, yer talkin’ in riddles. Will yer please tell me what yer’ve done?’

  ‘’Tis not what I’ve done,’ he answered darkly. ‘’Tis what you’ve done that we’re about to discuss.’

  Her heart sank; he knew. ‘Pat…’

  He held up his hand. ‘No, just bide a second. I’ve a question to put to ye, Thomasin. I’ll only put it the once, so I expect ye to give me the right answer an’ none o’ your hedging.’ So quietly were his words delivered that they could have been a caress: ‘Where did you get the money to buy my release?’

  She gave a nervous laugh. ‘I told yer, it’s Erin’s wages in…’

  ‘Sure, I know what ye told me, Thomasin,’ he replied coldly. ‘An’ now I know ye for the liar ye are, because ye see Mrs Cummings has just kindly informed me that her servants get nowhere near the amount that you purport to have received – beside the fact that she gets the impression she’s been paying the girl every month. So, ye’ve got me to wondering, like, why Mr Cummings would want to be so generous as to pay Erin so much more than the going rate? Aye, he must be a very benevolent man this Mr Cummings.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said shamefacedly. ‘I should’ve told yer the whole truth – but I knew what a proud old thing you were, yer wouldn’t’ve liked it if I’d told yer I got the money from an old friend o’ mine.’

  ‘Especially if it were a male friend, isn’t that what you’re sayin’, Thomasin?’

  She wanted to go to him, to hug him and explain why she had had to do it, but Patrick’s eyes held no welcome. ‘All right, so I knew yer’d be jealous,’ she shrugged. ‘Now yer know the truth, what’re yer gonna do?’

  ‘Ah, but I don’t know the whole truth, do I, Thomasin? I mean, ye say he’s an old friend an’ who am I to argue with ye? A very close friend, was he?’ He laid great emphasis on the word close.

  She begged him not to go on.

  ‘Why ever not? Sure, I’d like to meet this close friend o’ yours. In fact why don’t ye take me an’ introduce the pair of us right now?’ He grabbed her arm.

  ‘Stop it, Patrick! Please, stop.’ She struggled and he looked at her in amazement.

  ‘Why, I do believe you’re reluctant for me to meet this friend o’ yours. Sure, I cannot think why. D’ye think he’s too good to meet me?’

  ‘Of course not, don’t be silly.’ She rubbed her arm and turned her face away but he caught hold of her chin and wrenched it around so that she was facing him again.

  ‘Then I can think of no possible explanation for your unwillingness, Thomasin,’ he said softly, ‘other than this: you don’t want me to meet this man because he’s not just your friend, Thomasin – he’s your lover.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong!’ she cried but dared not look into his eyes.

  ‘Am I? Am I?’ he shouted, fingers tightening on her chin, making her wriggle in discomfort. ‘And was his wife wrong when she saw the pair o’ yese together?’ It was a lie but he had to know.

  ‘That was years ago!’ she objected shrilly, finally freeing her chin from his cruel fingers.

  ‘Years ago it might be!’ he raged. ‘But can ye deny that ’tis still going on?’

  ‘Of course I deny it! It’s not true.’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ He picked her up and shook her like a rag doll, throwing her this way and that. ‘My God, ye must both have had a bloody good laugh about me. When I think of all the hours I’ve slaved to buy ye the things ye wanted, the months I spent in prison…’

  ‘Don’t, oh please, don’t,’ she sobbed, and tried to support herself against his chest but he shoved her away. ‘I never wanted all those things. It was you who insisted on buyin’ ’em for me. I told yer not to work too hard, I told yer I was happy just as we were.’

  ‘Oh, ye were happy all right!’ he laughed sarcastically. ‘Who wouldn’t be with a lover who can buy her anything she wants an’ a husband who’s willing to sweat his balls off ’cause the eejit thinks she loves him? It must’ve taken a great deal of energy to keep the both of us happy, Thomasin.’

  ‘Please! Please, let me explain,’ she begged. ‘I saw in Roland a way to get you out of prison. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but what else could I do? Leave you to rot in there forever?’

  ‘Isn’t the truth more likely that, with me in prison, ye got to feeling kinda itchy? That ye couldn’t wait until the cell door was locked before your tongue was hanging out for it?’

  There was the briefest of pauses, then her hand clapped resoundingly upon his cheek. ‘All right, you’ve had your say! Now I’ll have mine. Yes! I did sleep with him, and in return he gave me the money to get you out. And no, before you ask, I didn’t enjoy it, not one bit, it was degrading, horrible. I hope to God I never have to feel that way again. My only thoughts were for you, locked up in there like an animal. It was the only way I could get the money, Patrick. Do you think I would’ve descended to that before I’d tried everything else?’

  ‘There’s just one thing wrong with your explanation, Thomasin,’ he answered. ‘While I was at the Cummings’ house I couldn’t help but notice a very large portrait on the wall. ’Twas of a man, a very ugly fella he was, with a face I’d hardly be likely to forget. ’Tis the man who ye were living with before ye met me, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘But I swear, Patrick, I’m tellin’ yer the truth. I’ve never set eyes on him since that day until…’

  ‘Until ye rutted with him in exchange for fourteen pieces of gold,’ he cut in viciously. ‘Funny, I always thought the price of betrayal was thirty pieces o’ silver.’

  ‘You want to watch your own tarnished halo, mate!’ she cried. ‘I’ve done th
ings that no woman should ever have to do an’ this is all the thanks I get for it.’

  ‘Thanks?’ Patrick burst out laughing, but the sound was far from happy. ‘Next, I suppose, ye’ll be asking me to thank the man for making my wife into a whore.’

  She lashed out again but this time he caught her hand and twisted it behind her back. ‘Not this time, ye filthy bitch. Ye’ve contaminated me for the last time.’ He pushed her towards the doorway. ‘There’s only one place for dirt like you an’ that’s in the gutter.’

  ‘Patrick, can’t yer see that I did it because I love you?’ she pleaded.

  ‘What a way ye have of showing it.’ They struggled together as he tried to push her through the doorway. ‘Besmirching my daughter with your fornications, getting her to lie to her father…’

  She had never seen him so angry. He was almost insane. The curses ripped from his lips but in his anger he had reverted to his native tongue and she could not understand them. ‘Striapach! Treatuir!’ He was a crazy, maddened foreigner, a stranger, not Patrick. Every time he succeeded in opening the door she lashed out with her feet and kicked it shut, for she knew that once outside she would never get back in.

  ‘God, I wish I’d never set eyes on ye!’ he gasped and wrenched at the door while still trying to pinion her arms to her body with one of his, but she struggled and fought him. He finally managed to open the door and wedged his foot in the space he had created then began to edge her over the threshold. ‘To think that I’ve worked every hour that God sent just to please a whore like you! Well, ye can take your filthy, lying tongue and get out o’ my house, and don’t come back!’

  With another curse he thrust her out onto the pavement where she fell upon her face, grazing the dome of her cheek and pushing one of her teeth through her lip. He filled the doorway, glaring down at the pile of skirts that heaved and cried and turned her face towards him pleadingly. He struggled with the automatic response to run to her, pick her up and hold her, to beg her forgiveness.

  Thomasin shook the fuzziness from her head and staggered at the door. ‘Pat, think of the children.’

  Her persistence seemed to jerk him from the horror of what he had done to her. With a brief grimace of distaste he slammed the door in her face.

  ‘You have no children,’ came the muffled, brutal reply.

  But she had. The commotion had brought them to the top of the stairs where they had watched in horror as their mother was cast from the house. Sonny tripped and stumbled down the stairs, flew at his father and punched at him wildly as Thomasin pounded at the door. ‘Stop it! Let Mam in!’ he screamed, trying to wrest the key from Patrick, while the tear-stained faces of his siblings spied down on them, wedged in the banisters unable to move.

  Patrick flung aside his son as if he was not there. ‘Forget her,’ he mumbled. ‘Ye have no mother now – never did have.’

  With these cruel words he charged into the back yard and locked himself in the closet, where he punched the walls in frustration. He felt betrayed and sickened – Tommy, how could ye? He sank to the privy seat, buried his head in his hands and wept.

  Inside, Sonny laid his palms and face against the front door, sobbing, trying to feel his mother through the unyielding wood. While on the other side, Thomasin still hammered and thumped until the blood began to trickle down her arms.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  He prolonged his cramped exile for two hours, head in hands and deep in thought. Try as he might, he could not push away those pictures of his wife lying naked with another man. An ugly ape of a man, pawing at her, slobbering over her… Holy Mother, he wanted to scream as he visualised those great, obscene hands touching her there, and there. And all because the bastard was rich, filthy, stinking rich. I love you, she had said. How many times? He snatched a piece of newspaper from the wad that hung on the wall and tried to drown himself in the words. But there were only half-stories, nothing which might hold his attention, and the visions of Thomasin with her lover were too buoyant. However he screamed at his eyes to cling to the newsprint, the naked couple appeared, stretched out between the lines, using the words as their bed, writhing, copulating. He clamped his fingers around the newspaper and reduced it to a tiny, black walnut.

  ‘I did it for you,’ she had said. Did she not know him well enough to understand that he would rather die in prison that be indebted to another man for buying his wife’s favours?

  A tap came at the door. The pictures faded, but did not die.

  ‘Daddy?’ Sonny tried to peep through the hole where the latch was fixed to the wood. ‘Dad, are ye in there?’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘I want to pee, Dad, I’m bustin’.’

  Patrick growled and tried to cover his ears. ‘Go in the yard.’

  ‘I can’t, Dad, our Erin’s in t’yard.’ This was mere pretence to lure his father out. Sonny squinted through the crack. For a good two minutes there was no answer. Sonny continued to tap and whine through the crack. Then there came a snort of impatience and the sound of the sneck being lifted, and his father stood there, morose and pathetic. The three children stepped back and stared at him accusingly.

  ‘What did ye hurt me Mam for?’ demanded Sonny, an angry robin.

  Patrick looked down with puffy, bloodshot eyes at the image of his wife, then pushed the boy aside. ‘I thought ye wanted to go to the privy?’

  The children watched him slouch back into the house.

  ‘What we going to do?’ asked Dickie worriedly. ‘There’s nobody to get our supper.’

  Erin and Sonny glared at him. Was that all he could think about? Dickie hung his head, then followed the others inside where once more they silently observed their father.

  ‘If ye’ve nothing better to do than stand an’ watch me then ye can go to bed,’ muttered Patrick, leaning on his elbow.

  ‘I want to know why ye chucked me Mam out,’ persisted Sonny.

  Patrick opened his mouth to shout: ‘Because she was a harlot!’ but instead he answered evenly, ‘’Tis none o’ your business, Sonny. Now, will ye please go to bed?’

  ‘When’s me Mam coming back?’ asked the tiny boy.

  Patrick could not look at his son. His mind went back to the time when, after Mary died, he could not stand the sight of Erin. It was the same sensation he was experiencing now. God, the boy was so like her.

  ‘Your mother isn’t coming back,’ he said to all of them, then rose abruptly and went to the scullery, returning with a jug of poteen. ‘Well, did ye hear what I said?’ he barked at their shocked expressions. ‘She’s not coming back so ye might as well get used to it.’

  His younger son stared at him, the grey eyes disbelieving, the mouth forming a startled O. Then, ‘I hate you!’ he cried and fled up the stairs, closely followed by his brother.

  Patrick groaned and took a drink straight from the earthenware jug. The liquor splashed onto his shirt but he didn’t appear to notice.

  ‘Will it be all right if I go now?’ asked Erin tremulously.

  ‘To bed? Aye,’ he replied disinterestedly.

  ‘No, I meant back to the big house.’

  He slammed the jug onto his knee and the liquid slopped noisily inside it. ‘You’ll not set foot in that house again,’ he issued dramatically.

  Erin was shocked. ‘But, Daddy, my harp is still there – an’ there’s Miss Caroline to consider.’

  ‘Don’t you argue with me, girl!’ She had only once seen her father in such a foul temper and that had been long ago. ‘Miss Caroline, Miss Caroline! I’m sick o’ hearing about her. Ye’ll have nothing further to do with any member of that family – an’ what about this money you and that woman’ve been hiding away? I thought better of you than to scheme against your father.’

  ‘I didn’t, I didn’t! Mam…’

  ‘Ah, I know… it wouldn’t be your fault, she made ye do it… I’m not mad at you… as for the harp, well, ye’ll just have to leave it where it is. We all have to make sacrifices, Erin. All hav
e to make…’ his voice disappeared into the jug as he took another drink.

  ‘But ye know what it means to me!’ She jumped back as he leapt from his seat.

  ‘Can a man get no peace in his own house?’ he roared. ‘Dammit, I’m going to the ale-house. At least there I can get drunk without anyone wittering in my ear about bloody stupid harps!’ The choice of one of his wife’s words – wittering – made her spring back like a Fury into his mind’s eye. Damn her! ‘You can get the boys their supper when I’ve gone. And if that woman should show her face,’ he warned, ‘don’t you dare let her in. There’s no place for her in this house any more.’ He marched down the passage and out of the house.

  Erin watched the boys pick at their supper, unable to eat anything herself. Poor Mam – and poor Dad.

  ‘I suppose we’ll have to put up with your cookin’ if me Mam doesn’t come back,’ complained Dickie, receiving a cuff for his insensitivity.

  ‘Just get that supper down ye and shut up,’ ordered Erin, donning Alice’s bonnet and wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. ‘And don’t let me catch ye still up when I come in.’

  ‘Where y’off to?’ enquired Sonny, gnawing at his crust.

  ‘I’m off to the big house to get me harp,’ replied his sister. ‘I don’t care what Dad says, I’m going. With a bit o’ luck he’ll be too drunk when he comes back to notice I’m missing. Now, are ye sure ye’ll be all right on your own? I’ll not be long.’

  ‘’Course we will,’ answered Sonny. ‘We’re not daft, ye know.’

  ‘Well remember, no messing,’ she cautioned. ‘An’ lock the door behind me. We don’t want any bogeymen creepin’ in an’ eating y’up.’ She said this purposefully in the knowledge that Dickie, at least, would now not dare to poke his nose out into the street.

  * * *

  Roland was very drunk. It was not his usual practice to imbibe so heavily, he was just so damned depressed. His current mistress had cleared off with a young subaltern – not that this had made him broken-hearted. She couldn’t hold his interest like Tommy had done; none that had ever followed her would bear comparison. He fished out a watch and tried to decipher the time, then put it away again. What difference did it make? No one would miss him if he were late, in fact no one would miss him if he never came home again. Nobody cared. The clink of bottle against glass seemed to amplify and fill his eardrums. He decided he’d better go. After settling the bill he accomplished the walk to the exit without stumbling, placing each foot firmly in front of the other in the way of inebriates. He saw not the wink between two dandies as he weaved his way to the door, supposed it to be an accident when they fell against him in the street outside, and accepted their apologies gracefully, unaware that his gold watch and a number of sovereigns had found themselves a new home.