To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  He tried to study the papers – new legislation over working conditions, et cetera – but couldn’t put his mind to it. When would he return to normal health again? Although he was left with ugly, red, angry-looking scars, his wounds had healed, but any exertion, however small, left him feeling exhausted. Damn and blast bloody Seamus Finney!

  A week later Richard Nelton and his lovely, petite wife Anna arrived early for the dinner. Andrew hadn’t seen him since his stepbrother Jeremy’s memorial service, and both that and Jeremy were the opening topics of their conversation as they sipped an aperitif.

  ‘Never had Jeremy down as a military man, but he turned out a good one, by all accounts. His medals and citation testify to that.’

  ‘Yes, I have them here. Dvina and I had them encased in a glass cabinet. Come and see. They are along here, on the wall of the hall.’ Wilson stepped forward and offered his arm and, despite the humiliation of it, Andrew took it. He knew that if he gave in to small amounts of help, he could last a lot longer at whatever occupied him, and he needed to get through tonight. Richard didn’t comment, but carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He nodded at the display and said, ‘A fitting tribute.’ And then, raising his glass to Jeremy’s picture to the left of the case, he toasted Jeremy. ‘Well done you, old boy.’

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  Richard broke it. ‘So, how are you? Since your invitation I have been down memory lane. We had some good times in the old days. It’s good to see you, Andrew.’

  ‘You too, Richard. I have tried to keep in touch, but it needs us both to make the effort, you know.’

  ‘I know. I had reasons not to accept your invitations, and then you stopped sending them and knocked me off your calling list.’

  ‘There just didn’t seem much point. I took it your wife didn’t want you to keep up with your old friends.’

  ‘Nothing could be further from the truth . . .’

  The dinner gong resounded around them. They rejoined the ladies, finding them engrossed in conversation about horses. It pleased Andrew to find they had common ground – not that Dvina needed one. She was an attentive host and always relaxed her guests. Dismissing Wilson, he proffered his arm to Anna, saying, ‘May I?’

  Anna linked in with him, with a light touch that put no pressure on him, and looked into his eyes as she said, ‘It is very nice to meet you and your charming wife.’ Had he detected a slight query in her tone? ‘Richard and I tend not to socialize enough. I am almost a stranger to society. I can’t think why we have never met?’ And was there a flirtatious innuendo in her question?

  They followed Richard and Dvina through to the dining hall. When Andrew felt confident that they were out of ear-shot, he said, ‘It is remiss of Richard never to have accepted my invitations before. It has meant I missed out on having a chance to get to know you, Anna – something I am sure I would enjoy.’

  ‘You’re too kind.’

  Andrew laughed at this. She had a way of saying things that implied more than her words. ‘Well, we shall have to make up for it. You are always welcome, and I will make sure you are on our guest list in the future.’

  Dinner over, the women retired to the withdrawing room, leaving the men to their brandy. Richard Nelton wasted no time in broaching the matter in hand.

  ‘Well, we had better get down to business. My sergeant relayed to me what had happened here, and about your own mishap. I am sorry to hear it has left you unwell.’

  Tiredness ached in Andrew’s bones, but he felt determined to get through the next half an hour. ‘Please ask all you have to.’

  ‘I don’t have questions, not yet. First, I think it important to get all the players around the table, and I have a plan to reel them all in. I am in touch with my colleagues in Scotland and have their full cooperation, which is something I hoped for. They are organizing officers to lie in wait for the gang and arrest them, once they are in position. Now, Seamus Finney will have a tail on him from when he is two miles away from shore. The police have commandeered fishing boats to surround him. Once he steps ashore, we will arrest him. He is wanted for a great deal more than your robbery, Andrew.’

  ‘What about the woman – Bridie Hadler?’

  ‘Yes, a tricky one. I had thought to leave her there, but if she is involved, we can’t. And then, there is the possibility of her kidnap.’

  ‘But she went willingly – at least partly. I mean, she left a note for her husband telling him she couldn’t cope.’

  ‘I’ve seen that, but don’t forget: the young lady who reported all of this to you is certain she overheard the leader of the Irish lot saying Mrs Hadler didn’t go of her own accord. What if threats were made – to her family, say?’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I haven’t put much store by that. So what will happen? Will you fetch her back?’

  ‘That looks likely. Would that pose you a problem, Andrew?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t said, but . . . Oh, this is awkward.’

  ‘It won’t go beyond this room.’

  ‘She flirted with me once before. At one of my workers’ weddings – I have to attend these things. It’s tradition. Anyway, she waylaid me and—’

  ‘Bloody hell, Andrew, you never could keep your cock in your trousers! Still, I suppose one can’t blame you; you were rather saddled. Didn’t do badly out of the whole deal, though.’

  ‘No, and in more ways than you can imagine, because I have found love with Dvina . . . Yes, yes, I know, and I don’t expect you to understand, but I haven’t the strength in me to defend her at this moment. You should visit more often and get to know her for yourself. Those who have – they have seen for themselves and know what I mean, and how truthful I am being.’

  ‘I would, but I don’t like to think of you being within a mile of my wife. She is known for her flirting, and men fall over her. I happen to have a jealous nature. Anyway, back to the point: what happened with the Irish girl?’

  ‘We kissed. It was four or five years ago, but since then there had been a sort of flirtation going on whenever we met. When I saw her up on the hill, teasing me, as she was from the other bank of the stream, I had every intention . . . I – well, I did suggest it, just before the first lash. What if they conjure up a story about me having fucked her? If they both say it . . .’

  ‘Andrew, we won’t take their word against yours. Whatever they say against you will go down as them trying to save their skins. Don’t worry about it. Seamus Finney won’t get out of this alive. It’s the noose for him. And she’s looking at a good stretch in prison, I shouldn’t wonder. The rest of the gang – I’m not sure. Without the testimony of the woman who overheard them, we haven’t got a great deal, and that is too risky. We will arrest them on suspicion in the first instance, but I don’t think we can bring a case against them – not enough evidence, and what there is could be shown to be hearsay.’

  ‘Is there no other outcome than prison for Bridie Hadler?’

  ‘Possibly. The workhouse might be an alternative. There is no actual sentencing to send her there, on a criminal level, but there is still the Poor Law. I could sort something out. I have an influence over most things. How would that suit?’

  ‘Better than prison; it isn’t so final. Nor is it beyond the realms of any help I might give her.’

  ‘Be careful, Andrew. Maybe she deserves your help – I don’t know and don’t want to – but don’t do anything traceable; it won’t look right, for you or me. Now, I think you owe me a few shooting parties? I’m not one for balls and such, but for Anna’s sake – yes, I wouldn’t baulk at some invites, as long as you promise not to dally with my wife.’ He laughed, but Andrew knew he meant what he’d said. ‘Anyway, I would especially like to attend events where I can further myself in my work. Not all of us landed on our feet, you know.’

  ‘Of course, Richard – anything. Look, don’t be short of funds, not ever. I have enough to look after you.’

  ‘Very generous of you, And
rew. My own position on that score isn’t good. Anna has a small inheritance, which along with my very good salary keeps us going, but if we socialize . . .’

  ‘There will be a letter delivered to you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’d rather not – not that way. You never know. Don’t forget, I am surrounded by detectives, and more than a few of them would like to bring me down.’

  ‘Well then, let’s go into my office before we rejoin the ladies.’

  Four weeks later

  Bridie paced up and down. Seamus had left five days ago. She’d missed him with a passion, but now her anger at him washed away those feelings. Where was he? And why had he insisted on locking them in? She’d eked out the water from the full buckets that he had left her outside the back door, but now they were empty. Her mouth dried with fear. What if he didn’t come back? Oh, God!

  ‘Mammy crying . . . Mammy?’

  Bridget touched the tear that had run down Bridie’s face. Once more Bridie pulled herself up for her little one and soothed Bridget, telling her, ‘I have a powerful lot of things to cry about, my wee one, but I’ll stop now. There, isn’t that a smile I have on me now?’

  Bridget laughed.

  ‘Go back to what you were doing. Mammy has to think.’

  Bridie stood in the small yard and looked up. No sign of rain, but she placed the buckets away from the wall and out from the shelter of the eaves, just in case.

  Looking around the high wall filled her with despair. It had many crannies in it where each stone rested on the other, making it possible to climb it, but she couldn’t do so whilst carrying Bridget and she couldn’t leave her here. If she climbed it, and then back over the one into the yard and managed to get water, how would she get it into the house? The chain on the front door held it fast, and the windows were far too high for her. And what if she fell? What of Bridget then?

  Back inside she pushed two potatoes and a small turnip – the last of the vegetables – into the fire burning in the range. This morning they had toasted the remains of the batch of bread and eaten it with jam. It had kept them going. Bridget hadn’t complained of being hungry, only of her thirst. Quenching that had emptied the last bucket. Her own throat burned; her tongue was heavy in her mouth. Bridie found it hard to gather enough spittle to dampen it.

  The potato wouldn’t go down, no matter how hard she tried to swallow it. Her body retched in protest and choked the remnants onto the floor. Hunger pains gnawed at her, but she’d trade all the food in the world for a sup of water. She was grateful for Bridget having eaten her potato, and she looked at her daughter curled up asleep on the bed. She would lie down beside her and rest a while, for wasn’t she tired to the bones of her?

  How much time had gone by when she came to? One moment the light poured in through the windows, and the next the black night crowded in on her. No fire lit these hours; its flames had died, leaving dry, grey ash in its wake. Bridie rolled off the bed. Bridget didn’t move. Her cracked lips were open, and her tongue – yellow and crusty – protruded from them. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets. Dried blood caked the corners of her mouth, but still she breathed, deep, sighing breaths. Oh, sweet Jesus, be after helping me.

  Too weak to move, Bridie flopped back onto the bed for a moment, before trying again. The room spun around her. In her confusion she thought the door had moved – it should be in the other corner. Her vision blurred. What was happening? Help us . . . help us . . .

  The light above Seamus flickered. He blinked his eyes to wakefulness, and the worry in him increased with that awareness. But had they at last believed him and sent a boat over? Please let them be after getting there in time.

  How long would the water have lasted? Jesus, what had made him lock Bridie in? Wouldn’t it have been enough to lock the gate? At least then she would have had access to the water. He looked at the chalk marks on his cell wall: ten days since he’d left. Prayers tumbled over prayers. Dear God, let them be in time to save her. And while I’m at it, I’d be asking Your forgiveness, for I have a mind I’ll be visiting You soon.

  He thought over the questioning. Strange it was how they seemed to think Bridie had a hand in the robbery. And not only that; but the accusation of her having lured Mr Harvey up the hill, so that Seamus could rob him? That would be Harvey saving his skin. Sure, Bridie would tell them the truth of it, and when her story matched his, wouldn’t they realize she was innocent? They had to, for robbery carried a long prison sentence, and she wouldn’t bear that.

  ‘Richard, how are you? How’s the investigation? Have they found Bridie Hadler?’

  ‘I hope so, Andrew. If not, they will find a corpse. As it is, the little girl is surely dead.’

  ‘That bastard! How could anyone do such a thing? My God, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’ To his shame, he had held out a small hope that Bridie would die. Everything would be resolved then: no open questions, only his version of events ever heard.

  ‘I came to tell you what Finney’s side of the story is, Andrew. I’m afraid your worst fears have been realized: he is saying he came upon you fucking the woman he refers to as “his future wife” and that he flipped. He denies having stolen anything. He says Bridie will tell the same story.’

  ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘I prefer your version. It is more lucrative.’

  His smile sickened Andrew. How did I stoop so low? Bad enough going with that damned Bridie Hadler, but to pay this slime of a man to cover up for me? God! But I’m in too deep now, and I’ve no choice but to keep going with my story. ‘And it will remain so, as long as you continue to keep things in my favour. I won’t testify to her being involved, though. I do think she was, but how can I be sure? What if she wasn’t? My making a definite allegation of that would surely send her to prison, and you know that isn’t what I want.’

  ‘Stop worrying, Andrew. We are not thinking of charging her with aiding and abetting – not of robbery anyway. Problem is, we can’t get Paddy Docherty to confirm that she didn’t want to go with Seamus. He’s hiding something. So she may have to face a charge of “helping with the disposal of ill-gotten goods”.’

  ‘Will that save her from prison?’

  ‘In the normal run of things, no, but the solicitor I have lined up to defend her will come up with some good arguments. As part of us not charging her for the robbery, she will have to agree to put herself into the workhouse, say that she is repentant and wants to work off her sins. Have faith, Andrew. It will all go to plan.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Anyway, there is more. One of the gang has told us quite a lot. He says Paddy Docherty carried out torture for the Fenians, and did so for Seamus, too. He also expounded on that snippet your informant told you about Bridie Hadler. It seems she was right: there is a question vexing the Irish over some funds her father pilfered from “the cause”, as they call it. They believe that after his death Bridie spent the money, which should have been returned to them. They are passionate about it, and the squealer confirmed that the talk was of one day getting their revenge.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘Yes, a nice lot, aren’t they? But you can rest easy on that one. Seamus Finney – I suppose because he realizes his own fate, and that the Fenians can no longer get at him – has told the truth of what really happened to the money. But that doesn’t alter the fact that Mrs Hadler planned to benefit from it, so we are not sure if that threat will be lifted from her.’

  Andrew listened to what had really happened, including what Bridie’s father had done – both to her and the Irish people. A part of the cold place he had in him for Bridie melted. Poor sod! She never did stand much of a chance, by the sound of things. But I’ll leave things as they are for now. I have to. There will be something I can do in the long run, though. But raped! And by her own father!

  When Richard had finished Andrew asked, ‘Is there no end to this? I’m beginning to rue the day I ever brought the Irish over here, though my wife chastises me for saying so.
And though she’s right in saying there are a lot of decent families amongst them, this is shaking my faith in humanity.’

  ‘Well, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble if you hadn’t. But you weren’t responsible for bringing Seamus Finney here, and he is our main criminal. His charges include murder, rape and child abduction, as well as robbery. Oh, a whole list of things, and for most of it we are gathering damning evidence. The Irish are coming forward in their droves. They hate him more than they hate you.’

  This shocked Andrew. He knew he wasn’t popular amongst them, but he hadn’t realized they had that much venom in them for him. Still, that was as may be; the worrying thing was how this whole case looked as if it would have a high profile, even without his name attached to it. Who knew what stones would turn over, and how people would judge each incident – true or not, proven or not – or who would jump on the bandwagon to damn him?

  ‘But,’ Richard continued, ‘one good thing has come out of all of this, and I expect Dvina is thrilled to know she will get all of her jewellery back. How is she keeping?’

  ‘She is very happy about it, and doing very well, thanks. She is planning a dinner party to celebrate. Not until we know Bridie is all right, of course. She is very worried about her. You will come?’

  ‘Delighted to, as always, but tell me: how do you do it, Andrew? You amaze me. No one else I know could have their wife worried sick over someone their husband had inter— Sorry, fancied having intercourse with.’