A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Father Flanagan looked stern and sad. ‘I’m shocked, I really am.’ Then, after glaring at them for a moment, he pointed at the contents of a coal bucket by the fire. ‘Your souls are now as black as that!’

  It was pointless trying to tell him they had been made to do it; one did not answer back. Told to step forward, they meekly held out their hands to receive a stinging rap from a cane across each palm. Then, hands burning with pain, eyes scalded by tears, the Kilmasters moved shamefully back into line.

  Faced with the threat of punishment from all quarters, the children did not know which way to turn. Dare they risk Eliza’s wrath by worshipping at their own church, or jeopardize their place in Heaven?

  As if in answer the Lord sent an angel in the guise of Doris, who, feeling sorry for their plight, told them not to fear betrayal if they wished to continue going to St Alban’s. ‘I’ve told our George that if he rats on you I’ll do the same to him. He’s been pinching Mother’s chocolate cracknels and hiding them behind the cistern in the netty.’

  Relief flooding their faces, the siblings thanked Doris for this ammunition. Next Sunday, they would return to their own place of worship.

  All went well for a couple of weeks, George keeping his promise, under threat from his sister. But in the end it was not George who gave them away, an innocent remark by a neighbour exposing their chicanery.

  After doling out another beating, Eliza swore that they would bend to her will and, the following Sunday, ensured they went to All Saints by asking Clem to take them.

  ‘I’m relying on you, Clem.’

  Their brother wasn’t very pleased about being dragged out of bed on a Sabbath, hence his bad temper as he accompanied them right to the door of the church and gave them a shove inside.

  Not so easily deterred, they merely pretended to follow Doris, Edwin and George down the aisle, but the instant Clem retreated they scuttled from the heathen temple and on towards the real church.

  This pantomime would have continued indefinitely had not Clem turned round by chance one Sunday and caught them in the act. The reprimand he delivered serving to warp their faith both in God and their brother, the Kilmasters decided that a change of religion was inevitable.

  This being so, also inevitable on Monday morning, was the penalty served out by Father Flanagan for their non-attendance at Mass. In a much worse position than Joe or Maddie, who no longer attended school and so were spared Father Flanagan’s discipline, the younger children despaired that this unjust state of affairs would be repeated week after week if they did not do something about it. But what? The one person they might have expected to help had his feet in the enemy camp.

  Taking Augusta’s latest visit as their opportunity, they petitioned for support. Whilst appalled that the children were being forced to reject their own religion, she felt helpless to oppose the strong-willed Eliza.

  Not wanting to make their predicament worse by speaking to their stepmother she voiced her grievance to their eldest brother, telling him, ‘Mother would be horrified by what’s going on.’

  Clem was unmoved at first. His sister had always been more devout than the rest and he thought her complaint stemmed from this.

  But no. ‘I do care about them being kept from church,’ Augusta admitted, ‘but not just that. It’s unfair that they’re being punished on all fronts for something that’s beyond their control, Clem. Don’t you realize they’re being caned every Monday for not going to Mass?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Clem’s face reddened, his annoyance directed partly at himself. For a young man of only twenty-one the role of surrogate father to nine children was a great responsibility. ‘You’re right, it is unfair.’

  ‘So will you talk to Eliza?’

  ‘No.’ He prevented Augusta’s objection by saying quickly, ‘She’s got enough on her plate without this. You don’t live here, so keep your neb out. But I will go and tell Father Flanagan about the change of religion and warn him to leave off.’ Leaving his sister only half satisfied, he went to the presbytery there and then to inform Father Flanagan that the children were no longer Catholics.

  * * *

  To their great relief, the name of Kilmaster was not amongst those called out of class on Monday morning, nor during the week that followed. As far as the priest was concerned they might as well be Protestants.

  Whilst it was wonderful that the caning had stopped, it went against the grain for those so indoctrinated to change the spiritual habits of a lifetime and Beata felt desperate that Father Flanagan should learn that none of this was of her choosing. Maybe then he would put in a good word with the Lord to spare her from the torments of hell.

  Seeing him that Saturday morning on his way down to the shop for his mints, she pelted excitedly after him. Too far ahead of her to be overtaken this time, she could see him entering the shop and she barely had the time to form a wistful pose at the window before he was on his way out again.

  ‘Hello, Father!’ Thinking he had not noticed her, for he was so tall, Beata smiled up at him.

  But his long thin nose was directed straight ahead.

  Taking the preoccupied look in his eye as a sign that he had not heard her, Beata said again, louder this time as she began to skip after him, ‘Hello, Father!’

  Still no response was given, the stony presentation of his back causing her to falter in bewilderment and watch as he kept on walking.

  But any misapprehension that it had all been due to her imagination was to be removed upon their next encounter. Eyes directed elsewhere, Father Flanagan cut her dead.

  Too upset to mention the priest’s icy treatment to anyone at home, Beata was left to reach the conclusion herself: Father Flanagan looked upon her as a sinner and had abandoned her. That it later transpired her siblings had been given the cold shoulder too had no salving effect. Deeply wounded by the one constant in her life, Beata felt her whole world had crumbled.

  Believing that miracles only happened to those of the true religion and now demoted from these chosen ranks herself, she was therefore astounded to be summoned to the front of the class that Friday afternoon and told that she had passed the examination that would entitle her to go to Mexborough Grammar School. Bubbling over with a sense of achievement, she could hardly wait to be let out of class. Upon release, it had become the norm to tarry, for there seemed no reason to get home since Father had died – but not today. She ran like a hare, composing herself only slightly so as not to make Eliza jump as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, Mother. I’ve passed my scholarship!’

  ‘Have you indeed?’ Stirring a pot, Eliza glanced at her approvingly. ‘Well done.’

  Hardly able to breathe from excitement, a grinning Beata went to wash her hands then set upon the tasks that Eliza instructed her to do.

  Siblings entered one by one and launched into their own chores, each receiving Beata’s proud announcement. Finally, the one that she had been awaiting came in, putting his unopened wage packet on the table.

  ‘I’ve passed my scholarship, Clem!’

  ‘Oh, grand!’ Her eldest brother dipped into his pocket. ‘Here, I think I’ve got sixpence somewhere.’

  ‘Eh, you must have money to burn,’ Eliza told him, though her mood was even.

  Beata swelled with happiness. ‘I’ll use it to buy pencils for my new school!’

  ‘What new school?’ asked Eliza, directing others to lay the table.

  ‘Mexborough Grammar.’

  ‘Oh, we haven’t got the means to send you there,’ came the mild response.

  A look of devastation flooded Beata’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eliza, shaking her head, ‘but school uniforms cost a fortune. No, you’ll just have to stay where you are. Anyway, it would be a waste of money. You’ve only got a couple of years to go before you start work.’

  After losing both parents, Beata rarely cried over paltry matters, but the sense of disappointment was so acute that she felt her mouth beginnin
g to crumple and so dashed out into the yard in order not to provoke comment.

  But comment was to come. ‘I don’t know what she thinks I am,’ Eliza told Clem, with an irritable shake of her head.

  He sympathized. ‘They’ve no idea how much it costs to run a house, have they?’

  Joe came in then and laid his wage packet on the table, leaving Mims able to drift out unnoticed to the yard and commiserate with her sister. But Beata felt that nothing would console her. She had been right all along: miracles were not for Protestants.

  Inside, Eliza had forgotten all about the previous exchange, her attention focused on Joe’s wage packet. ‘This has been opened!’

  ‘Aye, I know!’ He reflected her annoyance. ‘I questioned it meself. They said they’d made a mistake with my money and had to take some out. Eh, I don’t know, some people…’ He rolled his eyes in disgust.

  ‘It’s you who’s made the mistake if you think I’m falling for that one!’

  Joe tried to meet her gaze but it was hard. ‘No honestly!’

  ‘Liar!’

  Fearing violence, Duke played nervously with the collar of his jersey.

  Clem intervened. ‘Do I have to go down there myself and see the manager?’ His threatening manner caused Joe to give in.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ the boy eventually mumbled, ‘I bought a watch – but I need one so’s I can get to work on time and it were a right bargain!’

  ‘Hand it over!’ Clem held out his hand into which Joe reluctantly laid his new timepiece. ‘Bloody rubbish! How much did you pay for it?’

  ‘Only five bob.’

  ‘Five—’ Clem cuffed his brother round the side of the head, Duke flinching out of impulse. ‘Do you think Mother’s got that amount of money to waste? We’ve just had Beata mithering ’cause she can’t have her school uniform and now you. But you’re old enough to know better. Who sold it to you?’

  Joe grimaced and held a hand to his burning ear. ‘Mr Watson.’

  ‘Right! You can just go and tell him you want your money back.’ Clem thrust the watch at him.

  ‘Shop’ll be closed,’ protested Joe.

  Seeing his stepmother about to protest Clem laid a placating hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll break the door down if I have to.’ And, though the smell of boiled onions was tantalizing, he gave Joe an angry push and the two of them exited the kitchen.

  The Maypole was indeed closed for business but peering through the glass door Clem could make out two figures still inside and began to thump on the door until one of them answered it.

  Let in by Watson, the assistant, he wasted no time in demanding that the culprit return Joe’s five shillings.

  Watson resisted, going to stand behind the counter as a means of protection. Clem was much younger but had a reputation for uncontrolled violence. ‘It was a fair exchange! That’s a good watch, that is.’

  Ravenous for his tea, Clem was even more furious. ‘It’s shit! You saw a lad of fourteen and thought you’d take advantage. Now give me the money!’

  Watson, though worried, saw that help was coming in the form of an annoyed-looking manager and so refused to budge. Infuriated, Clem seized a pair of scales from the counter and held them aloft, threatening to dash them at the man’s head. ‘Hand it over!’

  ‘Oy!’ The manager had reached them. ‘I’ll call the police!’

  ‘And so will I if this thief doesn’t give me my money back!’ The scales still poised, a red-faced Clem told the manager what had transpired.

  ‘Watson, take your blessed watch and give Kilmaster his money back!’

  When the hurried transaction had occurred, Clem dumped the scales back onto the counter in such a heavy-handed manner that he broke them.

  The manager had had enough. ‘Right, that’s it, get out and take your brother with you! He’s sacked.’

  ‘No he isn’t, he quits!’ Grabbing a handful of Joe’s jacket, Clem ejected him from the shop.

  However, knowing that Eliza would be furious at his impetuous behaviour, he decided that he must have a solution for her by the time he got home, and now made a detour to the colliery, saying to Joe, ‘We’ll get you a job down the pit.’

  ‘But Father always said I could go in the army when—’

  ‘How many times do I have to remind you? Father isn’t here any more!’

  ‘I don’t need reminding.’ Part of Joe’s reply stemmed from grief that was still raw, though was mostly uttered from a sense of injustice that Clem had taken the opportunity of their father’s death to boss everyone around.

  ‘I think you do!’ Cuffing him, his brother headed towards the pit manager’s office.

  Panicked by the thought of going underground, Joe introduced another obstacle. ‘I don’t reckon Mr Shaw will grant you favours after you threw that inkwell at him.’

  ‘He won’t be granting me favours, you’ll be the one doing the persuading, seeing as it was your stupid behaviour that got you the sack!’

  Joe would have liked to argue that it was Clem’s temper that had caused this, but thought the better of it. With the prospect of being humiliated by Eliza if he did not have a job when he got home, there was no option but to resign himself to working at the colliery until he was big enough to stand up for himself. But he resolved there and then that as soon as that time came he would leave this wretched life and join the army.

  Eliza was pleased to have her five shillings back, but her jaw dropped upon hearing the news that Clem had found Joe more lucrative work at the pit.

  Faced with her look of astonishment, Clem thought he might have overstepped his responsibilities. ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  She came to life, patting him admiringly. ‘It is! I was just so amazed by the way you’ve got everyone organized. Thank heaven I’ve got one person who puts my needs first.’

  Clem smiled as she placed her hands upon his shoulders and steered him to the chair that had once been his father’s.

  Beata realized then something she had not noticed before. If ever Eliza laid hands on Clem it was to inflict not pain but some gesture of affection. Beata now began to pick up on every one of these tokens as her stepmother moved back and forth around the kitchen, a touch here, a stroke there, a hand draped carelessly across his shoulder as she leaned over the table to deposit his meal. Clem being an adult, his stepmother had always been easy-going with him, but young as Beata was she detected a subtle change between the pair now, a familiarity that normally only passed between husband and wife. It made her uncomfortable.

  ‘Right, you can start.’ Eliza took her place at the table, providing a tureen of meatless stew, not out of any sensibility for the children’s Catholic upbringing but because there was no money left for meat by Friday.

  Lined up with her siblings, most of them standing, Mims was looking with dismay at her plate. There were peas amongst the other vegetables. With great delicacy she used the tip of her knife to flick one after another of them to the side of her plate.

  Eliza eyed the small green mound. ‘You’d better not be contemplating leaving those.’

  Glancing up into her stepmother’s threatening face, Mims began to eat her meal as best she could, but very slowly and without relish.

  Whilst Probyn had been able to make his youngest daughter eat by sheer mental strength, Eliza had no time for battles of will with a six-year-old. After several minutes of watching this laborious performance and angered by what she saw as ingratitude, she lashed out at Mims, but having no chair and acting on reflex the little girl jumped back, so causing Eliza’s hand to come into painful contact with the table. Catching the hint of a smirk on Mims’ face, Eliza leaped from her seat and dragged the child to the understairs cupboard, shutting her inside. ‘Let’s see you laugh your way out of that one!’

  Clem’s siblings turned to him swiftly, but his only intervention was a sigh before continuing with his dinner.

  Panicking, Mims gave a kick at the door. It was immediately hauled op
en and a leather belt thrust into her face. ‘It’s either the cupboard or this!’

  Before Mims could answer, the door was slammed shut again, but too afraid of the consequences she made no further protest. For a second, defiance lingered and she poked out her tongue at the locked door, stuck her thumbs in her ears, waggled her fingers at Eliza through the wood and pulled all manner of insulting faces.

  But she was only a little girl. The darkness began to close in on her. She could feel it pressing against her face, suffocating her. Heart pounding in fright, she dropped to her haunches and began to sob, though quietly so as not to give Eliza any hint of triumph.

  Then, as she cowered, trying to overcome her terror, whether real or imagined the scent of ginger came wafting into her prison, curling under her nostrils and settling onto her tongue so that she could actually taste it, imbuing her with a feeling of warmth as if protective arms were wrapped around her. And gradually the panic subsided, her defiant heart adopting a more regular beat. And through those dark, horrible hours that followed she was sustained by the taste of her own lovely mother’s gingerbread.

  * * *

  Many another’s spirit might have been broken by this treatment, but next morning Mims was her normal self, dawdling over her breakfast as usual.

  Always foulest in the morning, Eliza’s temper was ready to erupt at the sight of such disregard. ‘I’d like you to get to Mexborough before closing time if it’s not too much to ask!’ This being Saturday there was the shopping to do. ‘And if they’ve sold out of my cakes you’ll be for it, madam.’

  Not at work today, Clem urged his little sister to do as she was told.

  Mims sped up for a time, but soon lapsed and, whilst the others had almost finished, she seemed to be having difficulty with her crusts.

  ‘Anyone’d think you didn’t have a tooth in your head, the heavy weather you’re making of eating it,’ scolded Eliza. ‘Look, everyone else is finished and waiting for you! If that’s not down you in thirty seconds you can look forward to another spell in the cupboard.’