Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘Better for whom, Hannah?’ Patrick’s hand which had been about to pull the bell-rope moved to take up his pipe. ‘Seems to me there’s too many people around here trying to take on God’s responsibility. It’s His right to take life an’ no one else’s. Anyway, I can’t see what all the fuss is about.’ He gestured at the baby who had been bound up and was now being thrust, protesting, into a nightgown. ‘Once she’s dressed ye can hardly tell she’s anything amiss with her.’

  ‘Flapdoodle,’ delivered Hannah testily. ‘Anyone can see that the child is going to grow up an idiot.’

  ‘If ye can see that, Hannah, then ye’ve got better eyes than me,’ retorted Patrick. ‘All I can see is a bonny wee girl who just missed having the finishing touches put to her, that’s all. How anyone can possibly forecast her intelligence at this stage is beyond me.’

  ‘Well, it would be,’ sniffed Hannah, her prim lip displaying a downy moustache. ‘There are many things that are beyond your comprehension, Patrick. And if one gave closer examination to your statement it would take little reckoning to trace the root of the child’s deformity.’

  ‘What exactly are you implying, Mother?’ Thomasin had looked up sharply, her grey eyes flint-like.

  ‘I think she’s trying to tell me in her own diplomatic way,’ said Patrick, ‘that Belle has me to blame for her imperfection. See, Hannah,’ he winked exaggeratedly, ‘I’m not as thick-skulled as ye thought.’

  ‘Mother, that’s insulting.’ Thomasin struggled to her knees, holding the baby in one arm while her other hand hoisted her skirts. Seeking the aid of a chair she rose fully. ‘I think you owe Pat an apology.’

  ‘Thomasin, it’s only logical. There was never any question of imbecility in our family. It is obvious where it comes from.’

  ‘It is not logical at all!’ shouted Thomasin. ‘It is most illogical, wholly ridiculous.’ Instead of gaining greater patience with age she seemed to be losing her temper more and more nowadays, especially with her intransigent mother. ‘You seem to be quite forgetting that this child has no connection of blood with our side of the family at all. I’m not Erin’s natural mother.’

  This made the old lady crow delightedly. ‘Why, yes of course. I’m becoming quite forgetful. Oh well, there you are then.’

  ‘And where is that?’ snapped Thomasin, hushing the mewing baby.

  ‘Why, Thomasin, you really are getting quite dilatory,’ said her mother. ‘Samuel, though far from being an academic, is from good Yorkshire stock. It is as I told you in the first place – the child most definitely owes her imbecility to her Celtic forebears.’

  There were gasps of impatience from all, Thomasin muttering, ‘I’m going to swing for her one o’ these days.’ Hannah cupped her hand to her ear. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said isn’t it about time you were in your bed, Mother?’ Thomasin shared a grimace with Patrick. ‘The hour’s late. Abigail’s had your sheets warmed for the past thirty minutes or so.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ replied the old lady tetchily. ‘But I wanted to be here to welcome the new baby. I wish I hadn’t bothered now. Hmph! Belle, what a name.’

  ‘I think it’s pretty,’ said Patrick, drawing on his pipe.

  ‘It’s ridiculous. She’ll sound like an actress. I refuse to call her such a name. I shall call her Isabelle.’ She flapped her arms for assistance in rising from her chair. Patrick and Sonny came forward to hoist her as was their usual contribution. They had often joked about having a pulley connected to the ceiling with a cord attached to Hannah’s waist – in uncharitable moments Patrick had even suggested the neck might be more appropriate. ‘I’m going to bed, will someone carry a candle for me?’

  ‘I doubt there’ll be many volunteers,’ murmured Patrick to his son who smiled and went to select a candle from the hall table. On lighting it he offered the loop of his arm to his grandmother. ‘I think I’ll turn in too. Goodnight, everyone.’

  ‘Goodnight, Son,’ replied Patrick. ‘I think maybe it’s time we all put our heads down, it’s been a hectic day.’ The sounds of his daughter’s labour pain still echoed round his head.

  ‘I’ll just look in on Erin first, poor lass,’ said his wife, ringing to inform the domestic help they could retire, too. ‘Would you like to join me?’ He nodded as she added, ‘I may have to wake her to suckle the babe else none of us’ll get any sleep. There’s nothing wrong with her lungs, is there?’

  Patrick concurred, tapping his pipe against the fireback and placing it in the rack. ‘I think we’ve been worrying about the wrong person. If her voice is anything to go by this little minx will be well able to look after herself.’

  They came through the shadowy hall. Abigail, the maid, stepped aside for them to mount the staircase first, brown eyes lowered in respect. News of the child had filtered to the servants’ quarters. Abi thought it a very dirty blow for such a nice family.

  Thomasin paused to issue orders. ‘Abigail, tomorrow morning could you slip round to the Harrisons and inform them that Mrs Feeney is indisposed so will have to postpone our dinner arrangements until some future date.’ The girl inclined her brunette head, frizzy from the over-use of hot tongs, and bobbed a curtsey. She waited until her master and mistress had retired before proceeding to her own attic room.

  ‘Now what did ye tell her that for?’ asked Patrick when they had distanced themselves from the maid.

  ‘Do you have to ask?’ She sauntered along the corridor to Erin’s bedroom.

  ‘Because of the baby?’ said Patrick, frowning.

  ‘They’re bound to ask after Erin, as I’m bound to tell them she’s given birth. I just couldn’t cope with all the questions at the moment. They look down on us enough as it is. If they knew about this…’

  ‘But ye can’t go on saying you’re indisposed forever.’

  ‘Of course not, but I need time to think of what I’m going to say.’ She opened the door of Erin’s room, leaving him no further time to voice his disgust. But that didn’t stop him feeling it.

  Chapter Two

  Erin and Sam were to remain at the house in York for the next two weeks. At any other time Erin would have enjoyed the break, but being in bed all day with nothing else to do but feed the baby made it hard to sleep at night, and the noise from revellers at the Black Swan made her all the more irritable. That, added to the immense worry about Belle, was the reason why Thomasin received an earful of abuse on catching her daughter in the garden at two o’clock in the morning.

  ‘God’s stockings!’ Thomasin stood in her nightgown on the terrace, holding a candle at eye-level, her once auburn hair dangling over her breast in a pure white plait. ‘I thought we had burglars. What on earth are you doing out here in the middle of the night? You’ll catch your death.’

  ‘And who would care if I did?’ returned Erin sourly, her back to the older woman, staring out into the night garden.

  ‘Oh dear, violin time is it?’ Thomasin, hugging a long shawl around her nightdress, came to stand beside her. ‘Come on, tell Mother all about it.’

  Erin looked at her now, but the response was not pleasant. ‘Oh, so that’s who the strange woman is. I’m sorry, I found it hard to recognise ye, not having seen much of ye while I’ve been here. Doubtless I’d not have had the pleasure of your company now if ye hadn’t thought it was somebody creepin’ round pinchin’ all your fancy doodahs.’

  Thomasin, though she knew the comment to be justified, was hurt. ‘If it’s sympathy you’re after, lass, I don’t regard sarcasm as a fair swap.’

  ‘Call it sarcasm if ye wish, I see it as the truth. I’ve been virtually imprisoned in my room for the past ten days and in that time ye’ve deigned to visit me twice.’

  ‘Oh dear, Erin, I’ve been that busy at the store I didn’t realise I’d neglected you so… But surely you’ve had plenty of other company without listening to your boring old mam? You’ve had Sam there and Sonny tells me he’s been popping in, and I know your father spends most evenings with you.’


  ‘Yes, I’m pleased to say Father at least has shown some interest in his grandchild. I’d like to think his visits were solely for that purpose but we both know that’s not the case. He comes ’cause he’s lonely too, ’cause his wife is never there. I dare say if I hadn’t been stuck up there he’d have no one to keep him company at all.’

  ‘Erin, it’s not like that. You know how the store takes up most of my time…’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m well aware that it’s more important than any of us!’ shot back Erin. ‘So is Father. But don’t worry, we know how to take second place. Unfortunately Belle is too young to understand why her grandmother chooses to neglect her.’

  ‘Erin, it isn’t because she’s…’ Thomasin paused.

  ‘A cripple? Yes, do go on, Mother.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Thomasin swished back towards the house. ‘I’m not standing here nithered to the bone to have a load of insults flung at me. I’m off back to bed. If you’re in a better frame of mind tomorrow we’ll discuss it then.’

  ‘I’ll make an appointment.’

  ‘Do that! And you can get yourself back to bed as well, else we’ll be forking out for funeral fees.’ She marched through the open french windows, then stopped exasperatedly and turned back to watch the figure on the terrace. Erin’s head slowly lowered and both hands came up to her face. There followed the faint sound of weeping.

  Thomasin sighed and wandered back out into the cool night, the white linen flapping round her legs. ‘Come on, bairn. Come inside.’ Putting her arm round her daughter, who was taller than herself, she drew her into the house, snapping shut the french doors after them. ‘There.’ She rammed a poker into the glowing coals and rattled it about. Then, going across to a cabinet, she brought back a decanter and two glasses. Filling each with sherry she handed one to Erin.

  ‘I don’t know that I should,’ sniffed her daughter, wiping her face with the sleeve of her nightgown. ‘It mightn’t be good for the milk.’

  ‘It’ll not harm. Babby’ll enjoy a little bevvy same as the rest of us. Go on, get it down you and plant yourself by this fire, such as it is. By God, it’s colder than an Eskimo’s bum – and they call this summer!’ Scorning the chairs she dragged a footstool up to the resurrected fire and hunched herself over its weak flame.

  Erin sank quietly to her knees on the rug and sipped the sherry, the flickering light of the coals playing over her troubled face. ‘I’m sorry I said all those nasty things to ye, Mam. I didn’t mean them.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, love.’ Thomasin smiled and reached out for her daughter’s free hand. ‘Ee, these hands feel as if they’ve been in t’ice house for a week. Give us ’em here.’ She put down the glass and rubbed Erin’s cold fingers briskly between her own, breathing warmth onto them between bursts. ‘How long had you been standing out there?’

  Erin shrugged and put down her glass as Thomasin gestured for the other hand. She felt like a child again, coming in from building a snowman and having her hands brought back to life, and for a moment the image of the half-formed babe upstairs was put aside as she dwelt in childhood memories.

  The brisk movement stopped but Thomasin did not release the hand, entwining comforting, motherly fingers with those of the younger woman. ‘It’s quite natural, the way you’re feeling, Erin,’ she intoned supportively. ‘Most of us go through some sort of upheaval after giving birth.’

  ‘Most of us give birth to normal babies, Mam,’ sighed Erin, retrieving the glass of sherry and pressing her lips to the rim. ‘An’ is it natural to want to die?’ The eyes welled up.

  ‘Oh, love.’ Thomasin put both arms round her weeping daughter. ‘You don’t really feel like that. It’s the birth that’s taken it out of you, making you talk this way.’

  ‘I do, I wish I was dead!’ sobbed Erin. ‘I wish Sam hadn’t stopped the midwife when she tried to smother Belle. It would’ve been the best thing. I wish somebody would put a pillow over my face, I feel so wretched.’ Thomasin patted her heaving back as she rocked her to and fro. ‘Cry, love. Get rid of it. You’ll soon feel better.’ She kept this position for many minutes until Erin could cry no more, then prised her gently from her shoulder. ‘Eh, I shan’t have to worry about having this nightgown washed this week, it’s already been done.’ She tugged at the saturated patch where Erin had shed her unhappiness. Her accent during the exchange had regressed into the blunt Yorkshire dialect with which Erin had been familiar as a child. It was strangely comforting.

  The young woman ran the flat of her palm over her eyes. ‘Have ye got a hanky, Mam? My nose is running all over the place.’

  Thomasin felt up her sleeve. ‘No, love, I haven’t. Never mind, use the bottom of your nightie like you did when you were a bairn.’

  Erin gave a soft laugh as she hoisted the hem of the garment and trumpeted into it. ‘Ye weren’t supposed to know about that.’

  ‘And what was I supposed to think all those little stiff patches were – broderie anglaise? Mucky little cat. You were nearly as bad as your brothers. It’s a wonder they never wore their noses away the amount of fingers they had shoved up ’em. Lying in bed, rake, rake, rake. They must’ve thought I couldn’t count all those extra patterns on the wallpaper in the mornin’.’ Having succeeded in making Erin giggle she forged on. ‘Still, I suppose I was as bad when I were a lass. Course, we didn’t have wallpaper. Luckily the patchwork quilt had a lot of green squares on it.’

  ‘Oh, Mam, stop it! You’re making me feel sick!’ Erin’s shoulders shook and they fell against each other, laughing heartily.

  The following minutes were given to reminiscence; what good fun they used to have in the old days, when Erin and the boys were children. Naturally enough, the subject of children brought the conversation back to its original course.

  ‘What plans have you got for Belle?’ asked Thomasin casually, reaching for the decanter and refilling both glasses.

  The other smiled sadly, hugging her arms over her swollen breasts and clutching them to her sides. ‘I can’t bring myself to plan even as far ahead as tomorrow.’ She took the sherry from Thomasin. ‘Every morning I wake up and pray that a miracle has happened. Isn’t that soft? I actually believe that in the time it takes me to cross the room to Belle’s crib when I pull away the covers I’m going to find a flawless, healthy child. I meant it before, ye know, when I said I wished Sam had been just a few seconds later in coming. Oh yes,’ she nodded at Thomasin’s sceptical face, ‘I love her deeply of course, an’ I know it’s a terrible sin, me feeling that way, but I keep thinking of her future. Every time she fails in some task because of her disability or each time she comes home crying ’cause someone’s called her crookback, I’m going to wonder at the wisdom of Sam’s intervention. What if she hates us for it, Mam? I don’t think I could bear that. D’ye think his choice was the right one?’

  Thomasin tipped the sherry into her mouth before answering. Erin took the silence for disapproval. ‘Sam was evasive when I asked him for your reaction to Belle, but I get the impression that ye thought he’d made a mistake. I can tell when he’s angry, even when he thinks he’s hiding it.’

  ‘Yes, he was angry,’ said Thomasin softly. ‘And he had every right to be. I said some unpleasant things. I didn’t mean them; it was just the shock.’

  ‘Then, do I assume ye thought we’d made a mistake?’ came the tentative cue.

  Thomasin turned to look her full in the face. The apprehension in the large blue eyes betrayed the fact that Erin did not want her mother’s true opinion. She wanted reassurance that the decision to let Belle live had been the right one. ‘If there was a mistake made it wasn’t of your doing, Erin. No mother could lay back and allow another to dispose of her child, however badly crippled. It was Sam’s decision… and to be honest… I took him to task over it. But,’ the apprehension in her daughter’s eyes intensified, ‘I’ve had a week or so to consider my view, and I’ve come to the conclusion that if I’d been in Sam’s shoes I’d have
done the selfsame thing. However difficult life is going to be for her I’m sure he couldn’t’ve done anything else. Belle will have good parents in you and Sam. I’m certain she’ll never grow to hate you, Erin.’

  The uncertainty was deposed by relief and Erin allowed her head to drop to her mother’s shoulder. ‘It makes me feel so much better, knowing you’re behind me, Mam.’

  I know it does, love, came the bleak thought. I only hope the lie turns to prophecy. Oh God, I wish I could find some feeling for that twisted little creature. Real feeling, the type I have for Nick and Rosie, not just pity. Perhaps it’s because the child was conceived at the time of Dickie’s death that I find it so hard to love her – though some might consider it a bond. Perhaps when time has healed the terrible hole in my life that his death made, maybe then I’ll come to care.

  She patted Erin’s arm and gestured at the moribund fire. ‘Away, I’ve got to be up at six to go to the warehouse, and it’ll do you no good being out of bed for so long.’ As they rose together she said something else. ‘About putting the store before my family…’

  ‘I’ve apologised for that.’

  ‘I know, but I wouldn’t want you thinking that it’s because Belle’s the way she is that I haven’t been up to see you much. I find this very difficult to explain.’ Erin brushed away the need for explanation. ‘No,’ said her mother, ‘I owe you that at least. If I haven’t been very attentive, it’s not because I consider my job more important, it’s just that… since Dickie’s… since he went, I’ve had to throw myself into my work, because that’s the only time I can manage to forget about him, when I’m working flat out. The moment I stop, the moment I come home and see your father… I just can’t shut out the sight of that burning roof caving in on my lad.’ Her voice broke. ‘I can’t stand to be in the house with nowt to do. The store keeps me occupied. I need to work for my sanity.’