Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘How the hell could I see this?’ replied Dickie. ‘What do I know about insurance? I never bothered with that rubbish.’ He stared for a moment at his mother’s worried face, then approached her. ‘I’m sorry, Mam, I never woulda come back if I’d seen any o’ this happening. ’Tis no good, we’ll have to go home. I think maybe you’re wrong about it just being you who’ll be in trouble, they might see it as a conspiracy. Anyway, without me they can’t prove a thing.’

  Thomasin tightened her hold. ‘No! They can’t prove it anyway. If we stick to the claim that you’re my nephew it’ll all be fine. Don’t go… remember the children.’ She turned a pleading face on Dusty.

  The children were all Dusty had been thinking about. This was her last chance of becoming a mother, and it was in danger of being aborted.

  Dick saw the distress on his wife’s face and removed his arm from his mother to put it round her. ‘Ye won’t lose them. We can come back when all the fuss has died down.’

  Her answer was cold. ‘When – in five or six years’ time? I’m old enough to qualify as their grandmother now, I’ll be totally decrepit by then. Your mother’s right, they can’t prove anything. We shouldn’t go rushing off until we’re sure they can.’

  ‘By which time my mother could be in prison!’ Erin stormed out, rather than have them witness her tears.

  The three of them let her go in silence. Dickie was thoughtful. ‘I’m off to pay Sutcliffe a belated visit, but I think we can guess what his advice’ll be. He could be in trouble over this as well. He’ll want me as far away as possible.’ The solicitor had been party to his client’s dishonesty.

  When her son had gone, Thomasin took her daughter-inlaw’s arm. ‘You have to keep him here, Dusty, please.’

  ‘But what about the repercussions?’

  ‘Hang the repercussions! They can’t do anything to hurt me at my age except rob me of my son again. You talked about your last chance of being a mother, Dusty. Well, it’s my last chance too. I don’t have many more years. I want them to be happy ones with my family round me. Help me, Dusty. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to persuade Belle to let you have those children.’

  ‘You must think I’m very self-centred.’ Dusty looked chastened.

  ‘We can all be self-centred when there’s something we want badly enough, lass. I suppose I’m risking Dickie in wanting to keep him here, but I can’t let him go, I just can’t.’ Dusty was racking her brain for a way to obstruct the departure. She had to make the prospect of returning to America less inviting than staying here – but how?

  Thomasin saw something pass over her face, and asked eagerly, ‘Can you do it?’

  Dusty’s answer was cautious. ‘I may be able to stall him for a while, though I don’t know how long.’

  ‘Whatever the delay I’ll be grateful,’ said Thomasin, then asked what she intended to do.

  Dusty appeared to lose interest, turned and walked away. ‘Right now I’m going for a walk.’

  Thomasin opened her mouth to object, but Dusty had closed the door. Alone, the old woman writhed in discomfort and pressed a worried hand to her cheek. She was going to lose her first born again.

  * * *

  Dickie bore grim news on his return, telling them that his prediction of the solicitor’s advice had been correct. ‘I’m sorry, Dusty,’ he told her up in their room. ‘I’ll have to go and book the passage tomorrow.’

  ‘What about your mother – don’t you owe her a few more days at least? Just until we know what’s happening. I mean, that’s just it, we don’t know anything is going to happen.’

  ‘I’d rather not wait till the investigators are here with the warrant,’ said Dickie.

  ‘And what about me? Don’t you owe me anything?’

  ‘The kids? I’ve got that all worked out. We take them with us.’

  ‘Kidnap them?’

  ‘Ssh!’ He covered her mouth with a kiss. ‘I can’t see that it matters; nobody else wants ’em, do they? We act as if we’re taking them for the usual outing then just go.’

  Her response was derisive. ‘And I suppose nobody’s going to notice the packed suitcases in the back of the car?’

  ‘We’ll have to leave them behind, just take what’ll go under the seat.’ He grinned. ‘Good, huh?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so bloody childish! I sometimes wonder why I want children when I’ve already got you. We’re not playing games, Dickie.’

  ‘I thought ye wanted these kids?’

  ‘I do! But legally. Even if we succeeded I’d never rest knowing what we’d put Belle and your mother through. Erin despises me enough as it is. God knows what she’d think if I were to resort to your underhand tricks.’

  Dickie put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Ah, ye don’t take any notice o’ that fat old dumpling.’

  ‘Yes I do! Unlike you, I care about what people think of me. I couldn’t live with myself if I’d done what you’re proposing.’

  He sighed in defeat. ‘I can’t see what other answer there is.’

  She wheedled. ‘Just hang on a wee bit longer, a day or two can’t make much difference.’

  He gave a soft laugh. ‘I suppose if they come for us we can always climb out o’ the window.’ Then he had another idea. ‘Hey, what’s to stop us taking Mam to America? That’d solve everything.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t, clot. She’s trying to keep this family together. Heaven knows why, all you ever seem to do is fight.’

  * * *

  Sonny came over a few days later, primarily on business, but a brief visit to the house for luncheon turned into a much longer one when Erin informed him of their dilemma.

  ‘I told you not to bring your brother into this!’ Thomasin laid down her knife and fork with a clatter.

  ‘I’m glad she did,’ cut in Sonny before his sister could answer, then looked accusingly at Dick. ‘God’s truth, I thought the emotional upset you brought with you was bad enough – I could thump you! Well … what are we going to do now?’

  ‘We can’t do anything till we know what the insurance people’re up to,’ said his mother, resuming her meal but merely to pick at.

  Sonny was stunned. At that point the doorbell sounded, making all jump. The manservant went off to attend, returning with a scrap of paper on a tray. ‘For Mr Richard, ma’am,’ he told Thomasin, and presented it to her son.

  Dickie stared from the cablegram to his wife who urged, ‘Get it open then! It must be urgent.’

  On reading it his face changed. ‘It’s from one of our staff,’ he told the gathering. ‘Seems there’s been a bit of a problem at home.’ Thomasin’s heart lurched. But the fear that he was being summoned back to America was soon to be allayed. ‘We’ve had intruders,’ he spoke mainly to his wife now. ‘They smashed the place up pretty bad.’

  ‘No!’ Dusty put her napkin over her mouth, then removed it to ask anxiously, ‘Is everyone all right, and Lurk?’

  ‘Who the devil’s Lurk?’ demanded Sonny.

  His sister-in-law explained that he was the dog. ‘He’s real old, I hope they haven’t hurt him.’

  ‘No mention of it,’ said her husband, frowning over the words. Dusty asked had they stolen much. ‘Er, no… doesn’t look like it. Apparently they weren’t in there to rob us … seems they were looking for me.’ He had the frightening vision of Stone’s men going to work on him with a meat cleaver.

  ‘But who were they?’ His wife’s loud query broke his trance.

  He looked sheepish. ‘Well … I was in a spot of bother with these gentlemen before we left – over some business. I had hoped my absence would make their hearts grow fonder but…’

  ‘I might have known!’ Dusty slammed the napkin down on the table, vibrating the glasses. ‘All this rubbish about wanting a holiday.’

  ‘I didn’t arrange it just to get away from them!’

  Thomasin listened concernedly to the argument, yet hope was rising. ‘Might these men be waiting for you when you get back there?�
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  Dickie tore his face away from his wife’s and nodded uneasily. ‘Looks like we’re going to have to stay here a while after all.’ He saw joint relief as his mother and Dusty locked eyes. This provoked thought as the meal was resumed.

  When the luncheon plates had been cleared and the womenfolk left them, Sonny leaned his elbows on the table and asked his brother. ‘These men … was one of them the person you mentioned in your last letter, the one whose wife was a friend of yours?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Dickie puffed a cigar, still thinking.

  ‘You don’t have much to say for yourself today,’ observed his brother. ‘Growing bored with us, are you?’

  Dickie only half-emerged from his reverie. ‘Sorry, I’m just wondering if it was a wild guess or whether Dusty actually knew about this guy Stone when she got the maid to send it.’

  ‘Send what?’

  ‘The cablegram.’ Dickie glanced at him. ‘It’s a sham. Oh, I admit I was taken in at first … till I saw the look that passed from me mother to me wife. They’ve concocted this to keep me here, at least Dusty has.’

  Sonny laughed. ‘That’s a bit unlikely. Have you questioned her about this theory?’

  ‘No need to, it’s not theory. I know exactly why she’s done it – because of the kids. She wants to keep me here till Belle gets back. As I said, the thing that worries me is whether her choice of subject for the cablegram was just guesswork or whether she knows about my fling with Stone’s wife.’

  ‘You never learn, lad, do you?’

  ‘Oh, I do, Son. I made my decision: she was the last one. I’m finished with women.’

  His brother showed that he didn’t believe him. ‘So what’re you going to do? Risk going back on the premise that Dusty did send that cable or risk staying here and face an insurance fraud?’

  Dickie grimaced. ‘It’s a short and curly job, Son, ain’t it?’

  * * *

  In the front sitting room, Thomasin was issuing her relief. ‘I’m really sorry about your house being broken up, Dusty, but if it had to happen it couldn’t have come at a better time.’

  ‘Don’t be too concerned about the house.’ Dusty was straight-faced. ‘It was a lie. When one lives with Dickie one has to be as devious as he is.’

  What a marriage theirs must be, thought Erin, sipping her coffee. But Thomasin gave an admiring smile. ‘I rather thought the coincidence was too lucky. How did you do it?’

  ‘I got in touch with Mary, my maid, and told her what to put – used Dickie’s fear of physical violence.’

  ‘So there are no men after him?’

  ‘I’m quite sure there’re plenty who’d like to get their hands on him.’ Dusty chose not to look at Erin who had sniffed loudly in agreement. ‘That’s what gave me the idea. But no, these were fictitious.’

  Thomasin sighed, then heard the crunch of gravel as a vehicle came up the drive – an ominous sound after recent developments. Edginess took her to the window, but when she turned back to the other women she was smiling. ‘It’s Belle!’

  * * *

  Erin wrapped her arms round her daughter then drew back to behold her tearfully. ‘You look worn out – come on, come on, inside! Oh, ’tis lovely to have ye back. You too, Brian!’ This afterthought was flung over her shoulder at the bespectacled doctor who had been Belle’s companion for several years; in what capacity Erin was not quite sute. Oh, she knew that Brian worshipped her daughter, but Belle had sworn she would marry no one. The relationship was something of an enigma.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’ Brian Dyson grinned and paid the cabbie. He was a man in his early thirties, of average height and build. In fact Brian was average everything, virtually nondescript, other than to say he had brown hair and eyes, spectacles and a pleasant smile. His character was easier to define than his looks; he was approachable, caring, generous and kind, and though his lack of diplomacy had sometimes made him unpopular with Belle’s family, in general they liked him.

  Picking up his and Belle’s luggage, he followed the women into the hall where Thomasin was welcoming her grand-daughter home, her sons being unaware of the arrival yet. He failed to notice Dusty who slipped along to the room where her husband and brother were. But Belle caught the retreating back and asked, ‘Who’s that?’

  Erin glanced over her shoulder, then said, ‘Oh … ye’ll meet her in a moment – now come away in by the fire!’ She suggested they go into the larger room at the back of the house. ‘Look at your tanned face. We’ll have to get some lemon juice on it.’

  Belle moved into the drawing room with a pronounced limp, the effect of having one leg shorter than the other. This was offset to some extent by the wearing of a surgical boot, though nothing could be done for her twisted spine. These genetic defects had undoubtedly helped to mould Belle into the strong-minded character she was. The insults she had suffered in childhood had caused her to resort to some form of camouflage, both in clothing and hairstyle; the latter was a dark bush of curls that fell almost to her waist, helping to disguise the hump of her shoulders, and the rest of her body was draped with Bohemian robes of autumn hue.

  Paradoxically, the style she had adopted tended to draw the eye rather than avert it, though if the onlooker saw an eccentric rather than a cripple then it served its purpose just as well. However, no camouflage was required for her face. The bright blue eyes and elfin features of her mother were further enhanced today by the kiss of Jack Frost. She looked truly beautiful.

  Eschewing her mother’s invitation to take off her mantle, Belle moved shivering to the fire. ‘Gosh, I’m really feeling the cold after all that sunshine!’ There was no Yorkshire or Irish accent here; her speech from childhood had been most refined, to the puzzlement but pleasure of her mother. ‘We haven’t been home yet. I wanted to come and tell you and Grandfather all about the tri …’ It was impossible to miss the sudden change in their faces at the mention of her grandfather. ‘What’s the matter?’ When no one responded she looked round.

  Until this point she had assumed their mourning apparel to be for the Queen, but now it became sinister. ‘Where is Grandfather?’

  Thomasin, trying her best to smile, hobbled towards her and grasped her arms. ‘Belle …’ The glisten of tears spoke for her.

  Her grand-daughter uttered a gasp of shock, but remained standing where she was. Brian moved into action. ‘Come and sit down, Belle.’ He coaxed her to a sofa then sat beside her, arm around the deformed back. Unlike Belle, his clothes were very sober – Norfolk jacket and green tweed trousers. To the family this couple had always appeared ill-matched and, juxtaposed, they seemed even more so. It wasn’t just their clothes that were at odds but their characters, too. Their only shared trait was a great sense of philanthropy, and even this was performed with totally differing aims. While Brian sought to comfort, Belle did not appear to know he was there. Her piercing blue eyes were dazed. She wanted to ask, when? But the word wouldn’t come.

  Thomasin seemed to know. ‘He died on New Year’s Eve, dear.’

  ‘What!’ Belle found her voice now and jumped from Brian’s embrace. ‘But it’s nearly March! Why did none of you write?’

  ‘It would’ve been too late for ye to do anything, darlin’!’ Erin came bustling over to comfort, but an agitated Belle evaded her and limped around the room, leaving her mother to clasp helpless hands and look on.

  Thomasin spoke to the doctor. ‘Brian, maybe we should leave them on their own for a while.’

  He looked at Belle who ignored him. Pushing himself from the sofa, he escorted Thomasin from the room.

  Erin struggled to speak, twisting her fingers. ‘He was very ill, Belle. None of us knew, naturally,’ she added at her daughter’s angry, enquiring glance. ‘He’d kept it to himself for some time.’

  Belle cast her frantic mind back. There had been something wrong with him, but when she asked why he kept screwing his eyes up he had said he needed glasses. Why hadn’t she seen the lie? For a spell she stared from the wi
ndow. The manservant had been collecting ice from a pond which he was now transporting in a barrow to the domed building at the end of the garden. It took Belle’s mind back to when one of her foundlings had fallen through the ice on the river … poor May. ‘What was it?’ she asked her mother woodenly.

  ‘Something to do with his liver.’

  Belle threw her face at the ceiling and gave a bitter laugh. ‘The drink was it?’

  ‘Well… that’s probably what started it,’ said Erin quietly. ‘It finished up as a growth.’

  ‘Cancer?’ Her mother’s reluctance to use the word caused Belle’s perversity. ‘The times I told him.’ She suddenly bent her head and covered her grieving face. Erin tried once again to comfort, but was in for more abuse. ‘Well, thank you very much for having the decency to tell me, Mother!’ Belle shook herself free of the embrace. ‘It’s a marvellous homecoming, I must say!’

  Erin used the rejected arms to beseech her daughter. ‘Darlin’, I’ve told ye …’

  ‘I know! There wasn’t time! And how long before he died did you learn about it?’

  ‘Not long, just over a week.’

  ‘Time enough for you to have sent a cablegram! I could’ve made it!’

  Erin refrained from pointing out the impracticability of this.

  ‘Ye wouldn’t’ve wanted to see him like that, dear.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I want! I’ve had enough of you knowing what’s good for me!’

  ‘Don’t speak to your mother like that.’

  An angry Belle spun to face the stranger in the doorway. ‘And who might you be?’

  Erin groaned and wrapped her arms about herself as Dickie came in. ‘Oh, no … everything seems to’ve happened while you were away. This,’ she said distastefully, ‘is your Uncle Richard – my brother.’