Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Dusty pulled the baby’s woollen bonnet around his cheeks. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ She held the child acquisitively.

  ‘I don’t suppose it’d make any difference if I said yes?’ asked Dick.

  His wife smiled and said it wouldn’t.

  ‘God love us, it’s gonna cost me a fortune to ship this lot back to America – you’re sure ye wouldn’t like to get rid of a few more while ye’ve got me cornered?’ The last part was directed at Belle. She explained that Dusty had become so close to the baby that it would not be fair to part them. With an old-fashioned look, Dick tugged the brim of his hat and herded his wife and children to the street. Belle patted each head affectionately and said she would give the children a proper goodbye before they left. She waved them off and was about to go in, when Dick tripped back to whisper with a grin, ‘I’ll be back for my goodbye kiss.’

  * * *

  Thomasin was enjoying a chat with Francis and Nick when the door opened a crack and a disembodied voice called, ‘Now I don’t want you to worry if I look different, Mam. I’ve just had a bit of plastic surgery in Paris.’ With bated breath, she awaited her son’s entry. A six-inch long nose jutted round the edge of the door. Thomasin’s heart lurched, before she realised it was false.

  ‘You daft clot, you nearly gave me a seizure!’ She tried to push herself from the chair as he came in, the nose now on his forehead like a unicorn’s horn.

  ‘I was only trying to make ye laugh. I got it in France.’ He removed the elastic from his head and put it on Freddie, twanging it playfully.

  ‘I’ll give you laugh! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Thanks for the welcome.’ He delivered the letters Joe had given him.

  She checked her tongue and came to shake him. ‘I’ve been worried out of my mind – as far as I knew you could’ve been caught.’

  He told her that Nettleton was still in Paris. ‘So you can rest easy.’

  ‘Until the next scrape!’

  ‘Sorry, I promise I’ll be a good lad from now on – well, I’m a father now so I have to be.’ Face proud, he indicated the children.

  ‘So ye finally got round her then?’ Erin had appeared at his elbow.

  Dickie looked startled. ‘I never felt a thing then.’ He reached a hand round his back to grope between his shoulderblades. His sister asked what on earth he was doing. ‘I’m just looking for the handle – of the knife.’ He stretched his lips.

  ‘Clown,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, that’s a bit milder,’ exclaimed her brother. ‘Does it mean I’m back on the Christmas list?’

  His mother had lowered herself back into her seat. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be here for Christmas, will you? You’ll want to be getting away.’

  ‘I’ll be with you for Christmas, Mam,’ promised Dickie, confounding his wife.

  Francis, who had anticipated that Thomasin’s son would be eager to escape to America, was incensed to hear his intention of staying on. Whilst she was congratulating Dusty on the adoption, he unbent his stick-like body. ‘Thomasin dear, forgive my interruption, but I’m afraid I shall have to leave now. I’m expecting my daughter to call.’ After taking farewells, he made for the hall before his anger exploded.

  ‘Let me get the door, Fran!’ Dickie ran to open it, but instead of rejoining the family, he tailed the old man into the hall and closed the door. ‘I’ve a favour to ask, Fran. Ye once offered me some money to go back to New York.’ Francis stopped and nodded, dislike on his face. ‘Well, I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.’

  Francis showed contempt for the impudence. ‘What makes you think it still holds?’

  Dickie exhaled and looked sad. ‘Ah dear, haven’t got it, eh?’ He clicked his tongue. ‘That means we’ll be stuck here till that detective turns up on Mam’s doorstep then. What with having the kids in tow, well, it’s gonna cost me a packet to ship us all back …’

  ‘How much are you going to blackmail out of me?’

  ‘A thousand pounds should …’

  ‘You think I’m paying that!’ Francis kept his voice to an irate whisper.

  ‘It’s pay or stay, Fran.’ Dickie smiled.

  Resigned to the extortion, Francis was opening his chequebook, when a thought presented itself. ‘You mother is expecting you to stay – at least for Christmas.’

  ‘She’ll be disappointed, but she’d rather I was safe than spend a long vacation at Tyburn by the Sea. That detective is a lot closer than I’ve admitted.’ He watched the old man rest his chequebook on the hall table and looked over his shoulder. ‘Can ye make it out to cash? Thanks, Fran.’

  Francis tore off the cheque and handed it to him. ‘I’m doing this for your mother.’

  ‘Of course. But I appreciate it – and don’t worry, I won’t tell her that ye bought me off.’

  * * *

  ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ commented Erin when he returned to the drawing room.

  ‘And why wouldn’t I be?’ Dickie put an arm around his wife, the other hand on Julia’s dark head. ‘With a fine family like I have.’

  ‘Eh, your father’d be that glad for you.’ Thomasin’s joy paled. ‘My, you wouldn’t think it was almost a year since he died.’

  Dickie looked at the carpet. ‘Aye … this time last year I was on my way to wish you Happy New Year – an’ I never did get round to it – Happy New Year! Late or early, take your pick. Well, kiddiwinkles, I’d better go send a cable and warn them to have the house prepared for the grand homecoming.’

  Thomasin was pole-axed. ‘But … you said you were staying.’

  He came to sit with her. ‘No, Mam, I said we’d be with ye for Christmas and we will – you’re coming with us.’

  ‘To America!’ Thomasin looked at Erin and Nick. ‘I can’t do that!’ He asked why not. ‘On these legs – as me mother used to say?’

  ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll give ye a good rub down with embrocation every . . .’

  ‘Day!’ chorused his wife. ‘Oh, do please come, Mother. I’m going to need your help to get the children settled in.’

  ‘But what about the house – and the business? I can’t just up and leave.’

  ‘Hey, it’s only a holiday, I don’t want ye living with us for good – anyway, what’re ye talking about?’ Her son gestured at Nick. ‘Ye’ve got a man here who’s capable of running the show on his own.’

  ‘But I can’t leave the rest of the family at Christmas!’ She held him in her sights for a long time, trapped by indecision. She had been silly to think that her son could stay here forever with the police files still open. She turned painfully to Erin. ‘What will you do if I go?’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself with me, I’ll spend Christmas with Belle.’ And there’ll be no games of Postman’s Knock while I’m there, thought Erin. ‘Will ye be going then?’

  Thomasin looked dazed. ‘Aye… aye, I think I just might.’ She laughed at her own daring.

  ‘Great!’ Dickie slapped his knee and stood up.

  ‘I want to be back for the Coronation though,’ warned his mother. ‘I’m not missing the party for anybody.’

  Laughing, Dusty turned to Erin. ‘I’ll have to get the children kitted out with new clothes. Have you time to spare for a shopping spree?’ Erin said she would be pleased to help.

  Thomasin was studying her grandson and knew what he was waiting for. ‘Oh … all right, Nick, you’ve got it.’

  He had no need to be told what she meant. His face was crestfallen, though his eyes danced. ‘You could have injected a bit more ceremony, Nan.’

  ‘It’s a Chair not a ruddy throne. You want ceremony? Come here then.’ She made him bow down, and touched her walking stick on either side of his fair head. ‘Arise, Sir Persistence. Now, you run along and play shops, do your profit-sharing or whatever – I’m going to start enjoying meself!’

  * * *

  By the morning of Friday, December the thirteenth, the trunks had been packed and sent ah
ead, the berths booked and Thomasin was looking forward to the voyage. She and her son’s family would be travelling to London on the evening train. The ship would sail shortly after midnight.

  In the afternoon Sonny, Nick and their families came over to say their goodbyes, braving the fierce snowstorm that had been in effect throughout the day. Belle came too, though minus her charges who had said farewell to Fred and his sisters a few days ago. Thomasin held the fear that they would all be stuck here over the weekend if the snow continued to lay – it was already over a foot deep and, lashed by the wind, it had formed huge drifts around the house, sweeping up the doors and windows. Plus, there were reports of roads being blocked and villages cut off.

  Sonny had fetched his brother a parting gift, a painting of their father’s birthplace done while he was on holiday. ‘There’s something to show your American friends. Come back next year and I’ll do you a family group – at no charge.’

  The time for them to leave ticked closer. Dusty was full of last-minute anxieties, castigating her husband for allowing Fred to play out in the snow. ‘Those boots will never be dry by the time we need to leave! The servants have packed his spare ones in the trunk, he’s nothing else to wear – and he is not going home in wet boots.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, woman.’ Dick called his son to him. ‘We’ll nip into town and buy him some more. I’m sick of sitting round waiting anyway.’

  ‘In this? We might never see you again. Oh, all right – but don’t be long! We’ve only an hour to go.’ And then we’re on our way, thought Dusty with exhilaration. We’re really taking them home.

  Dickie met his mother in the hall. ‘I hope you’ve got those knees well wrapped up, ye hobblin’ old goblin. It’ll be nippy aboard that ship.’

  Thomasin said to the boy, ‘Close your eyes, Fred.’ With a crafty glint to her eye, she hoisted her skirts above knees that were swaddled in thick layers of flannel. ‘How’s this for you – lagged legs.’

  Laughing, Dick pressed Freddie on to the outer door. Both muffled from head to foot against the blizzard, they forged a way down the thickly-coated driveway. The snow now came over Freddie’s knees, making it difficult for him to walk. His father swung him onto his back and strode on. Apart from some Council employees who were trying to keep the roads clear, there were few people mad enough to be out in this weather. They did not encounter another soul until they reached the shops. The silence was quite eerie.

  The boots were purchased without difficulty. Dick crudged his way back along Saint Saviourgate – avoiding the dark narrow passage that was a quicker route – when, through the swirling blizzard, the lone figure of a woman materialised. The edge of the pavement was invisible under the snow. Dickie stumbled, almost dislodging his passenger, as he stepped aside for her to pass. But she blocked his path, clasping her shawl tightly round her head. ‘Oh, sir, can you help me? I’ve got water running through the ceiling and I don’t know how to stop it. I must have a burst pipe or something.’

  ‘I’m no plumber,’ said Dick, narrowing his eyes against the sting of snowflakes, but still able to see that she was quite comely. ‘Can’t ye call on a neighbour?’

  ‘Oh… I’ve knocked and knocked but none of’em answer – oh, please, sir I only live down here.’

  Dick pondered whether this could be a trick. No. He looked at her again, then said all right, he would come, when Freddie’s hot breath hit the back of his neck. ‘Me mam said we haven’t got to be long.’

  Telling his son that the woman’s house was on their way so they wouldn’t be long, Dickie tramped after her. When she came to the house he put Freddie on his feet and followed her inside. ‘It’s in here,’ she told him worriedly.

  Dick entered the room and frowned. ‘Where is it? I can’t …’ Everything went black.

  * * *

  When he regained consciousness he was lying on cold linoleum. He groaned and tried to put a hand to his head, only to find it manacled to the leg of a table. Fred knelt beside him, a puddle of melted snow around his boots. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’

  ‘Marvellous.’ Dickie screwed up his eyes, then heard Fred speak to someone.

  ‘When me dad gets free he’ll knock your head off, won’t you, Dad?’

  Dick lifted his pounding skull from the lino and saw Nettleton on a balloon-backed chair, tapping a life-preserver against his palm. The woman was nowhere to be seen. ‘Oh, Christ… I don’t suppose anybody’s got a match?’

  ‘Aye, the salamander,’ mused Nettleton. ‘A sneaky little lizard that can live through flame. It’s taken a long time, lad.’

  Fred threw more insults. ‘I’ll bet you don’t know how to catch rabbits. Me dad can.’

  Nettleton gave an interested smile, still tapping the cosh against his palm. ‘A poacher too, eh? That’s a more serious offence than murder to some folk.’

  Dickie pulled himself up into a sitting position; the gloved hand that he was using as a prop, slipped on the wet floor. He shuffled his buttocks and leaned forward. ‘Look, ye’ve got the wrong man. I didn’t kill either of them. I had to hit Bearpark to stop him beating up a woman, but he hit his head as he went down, that’s what killed him.’ Nettleton was unmoved and asked about the other victim. ‘I came home to find two men attacking her – I couldn’t help, they had a gun. When they’d gone I buried her.’

  ‘And tried to draw money out of her bank account,’ Nettleton reminded him. ‘And sold her farm, and concealed her death.’

  ‘All right! I’ll plead guilty to all that, but I didn’t kill her. I liked the old biddy, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Aye, I heard you were fond of women.’

  Dickie cursed himself for not following his first instinct about the woman who had brought him here, asking who she was and how much Nettleton had paid her to do it.

  ‘She’s a chambermaid at The Black Swan. I got quite friendly with her while I was staying there in the summer, asked her to get in touch if she saw any goings-on at the big house. So when I came back from Paris I just had to renew her acquaintance.’ The detective began to experience one of his headaches, the frown lines between his eyes deepening.

  ‘If ye’ve been there watching me, why didn’t ye come and arrest me?’ Dickie’s back ached from being in this restricted position.

  ‘Because as soon as I came in the front door you’d be out the back, and I didn’t want the whole of the York force out again. You’re mine.’

  ‘You’re so sweet.’

  Nettleton came over and kicked him very hard. Freddie cried out and punched the man’s thigh, but slipped on the lino. ‘Led me a merry dance in Paris, didn’t you?’

  Wincing, Dick squinted up at his oppressor. ‘Ah, but I’ll bet you enjoyed it.’ He gave a defiant wink. ‘Wouldn’t ye rather be there than stuck up to your neck in snow?’

  ‘I’ve got what I want, and I’m taking him in.’ The hand holding the cosh made a movement. Dickie, fearing he was about to be struck on the head again, cowered and lifted a protective arm. Nettleton laughed, put the cosh into his pocket and took out the key of the handcuffs.

  Dickie panicked. ‘Look I’m begging ye, don’t spoil it for the boy here.’ He gestured at Fred. ‘D’ye really want to leave him and his sisters fatherless? Don’t ye feel any sorrow for him?’

  ‘Aye, I do feel sorry for the poor little sod – he’s had a narrow escape, nearly getting saddled with you for a father.’

  ‘Don’t lock me dad up,’ pleaded Fred.

  ‘Sorry, son.’ Nettleton put the key to the handcuffs. ‘He’s a bad man.’

  Fred was defiant. ‘He isn’t, are you Dad?’

  ‘No, son, of course I’m not.’ Dickie turned to Nettleton. ‘Did ye have to say that? Isn’t it bad enough you’re taking me away from him?’ With his appeal to the detective’s better nature fallen flat, he pulled the last card from his sleeve. ‘Surely I’m not worth that much to ye, not after all these years? Wouldn’t five hundred pounds suit ye better?’ Nettleton paused in unlocking
the cuffs. Now that he had the man’s attention, Dick spoke keenly, ‘Five hundred pounds to tear up those files on me.’

  ‘Couldn’t do it even if I had a mind; I’ve retired, can’t get access.’

  ‘Retired?’ Dickie threw back his head. ‘Jesus! Ye must be crazy, tailing me all over the blasted place – what the hell are ye getting out of it, then?’

  ‘The satisfaction of catching up with somebody who thought he’d made a mug of me.’

  ‘And that’s about all! Christ, I thought ye must be in line for promotion at the very least the way ye’ve clung to me. Listen, I could have that money in your pocket within five minutes.’ He spread his fingers to ram the point home. ‘Forget about the files, I’ll pay ye just to let me go. Five hundred. Isn’t that better than a pat on the head for catching me? I mean, they’re hardly likely to be handing out medals for crimes that are a quarter of a century old – ones that I didn’t even commit – and I’ll be able to prove that in court.’

  Nettleton sneered at the bluff, but remained interested. ‘Ye said yourself, the whole point of this was catching me for your own peace of mind. And ye have caught me. You know that and I know that, I surrender to your skill and determination. But, what else do ye get from it? If it’s fame you’re after I’m hardly a top villain and even if I were, the world forgets very easily – you’re not going to be in any history books. Wouldn’t it suffice to have the knowledge that ye’ve won and a pocketful of money on top? Now … I’ve made plans to catch the ship back to America. It leaves just after midnight – I could still go and no one need be any the wiser. Your friends think I’m already back there anyway. Think about it carefully. Five hundred pounds.’

  ‘Double it,’ said the other.

  Dick was encouraged. ‘I can maybe scrape seven-fifty but that’s all the ready cash I have.’ He still had the money he had leeched from Francis, but hoped he would not have to dispense with all of it.