* * *
After listening to the contents of Liam’s heart, Patrick spread his hands. ‘Liam, I wish there was some way we could help ye. Might ye be wiser to get away from it altogether an’ live somewhere else? We could help financially, couldn’t we, Tommy?’ His wife endorsed this.
‘Ah, your kindness is much appreciated, but no, I wouldn’t know where to go.’
‘But surely you can’t want to stay in the same house as the man who robbed you of your job,’ said Thomasin.
‘Ah, if t’were just a job, Tommy,’ Liam answered forlornly. ‘’Tis my life he’s taken. I couldn’t feel much worse if he’d plunged a knife between me shoulderblades. Ah, but no, I think I’ll take him up on his offer, genuine though it isn’t, if only so’s I can be a nuisance to him for the rest o’ me days. An’ o’ course I have Mrs Lucas my housekeeper – if he keeps her on, which I think he will. He might be a rogue but he’s no fool and she’s the finest cook in York, barring your own, of course.’
‘So we can’t persuade ye to come an’ live with us?’ enquired Patrick.
‘God love ye, no! Though your generosity touches me. You’re a good friend, Pat, but I think ye’ve enough problems without a liability like me. I’ll remember your kindness, though.’
‘Aye well, when you’re writing your will my name is spelt with one em,’ Thomasin smiled, then looked up as Abigail showed the doctor back in. ‘Oh, how is she, Doctor?’
‘Bodily, everything appears to be healing nicely.’ The physician put his bag on the carpet. ‘However, I’m not at all happy with her mental state. I suggest that she be watched carefully.’
Patrick showed his alarm. ‘Ye mean she could try to kill herself?’
The doctor was uncomfortable; families were usually reticent when it came to discussing madness. Then he nodded, supposing it was better to call a spade a spade in order for them to be on their guard. ‘Mrs Teale is much deranged by her tragic loss. She seems unable to communicate. May I suggest that a member of the family try to get her into conversation, to speak of her loss?’
‘It’s not as if we haven’t tried,’ Thomasin told him. ‘She doesn’t want any of us.’
‘Nevertheless I beg you to persist. She mustn’t be allowed to meditate on her grief, otherwise…’ He shook his head.
‘God,’ breathed Patrick.
‘Can’t you keep sedating her until she becomes more stable in her mind?’ asked Thomasin anxiously.
‘I can of course,’ answered the doctor. ‘But still she should be watched.’
‘Naturally we’ll all be most diligent,’ said Thomasin. ‘Doctor, have you decided when she’ll be able to leave her bed?’
Patrick read her thoughts instantly – she’s worried that she’ll have to sit with the girl and not be able to get out to that blasted store, he thought angrily. But he kept his voice unaccusing. ‘We don’t want to get the lass up before she’s fit, Tommy. I’ll sit with her if ye like.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting dragging her out of her sickbed, Patrick. I was simply going to suggest that she be given some light occupation to take her mind off things.’ She turned questioning eyes to the doctor.
‘That may be a sensible course of action, Mrs Feeney,’ nodded the man. ‘She is, I feel, quite well enough physically to leave her bed and take on some light work – nothing too strenuous of course. But what she really needs is someone to whom she can confide.’
Patrick looked at his wife. ‘You’ve lost a child, Tommy. Knowing that you understand the way she’s feeling might help her.’
‘She hasn’t just lost a baby, Pat. She’s lost a husband she adored, a home… my fault, I know, but I simply thought to take some of her worries off her shoulders. All that on top of bearing a crippled child.’ No wonder the girl was in danger of losing her mind.
‘God forgive me,’ broke in Liam. ‘I never thought to ask how all this is affecting Belle.’ All these visits to Erin and never once had he enquired after the child. They had obviously been keeping Belle out of the way in case the sight of her upset her mother. Out of sight, out of mind… but that was no excuse for him. ‘She and Sam were very close, weren’t they?’
Thomasin looked even more solemn and nodded. ‘The odd thing is, she doesn’t seem to be affected by this in the least. All this upheaval hasn’t produced any response whatsoever. She’s upstairs with Rosie and Nick playing quite happily – as much as she’s able. Of course, she can’t tell us what she’s feeling, can she? Oh, here’s Abigail with the tea. You will join us, Doctor?’
The physician accepted, but declined the further invitation of lunch and twenty minutes later went on his way. Towards midday Erin came down. Immediately, everyone rose and fussed about her as she selected a chair. ‘Is there anything I can get you, dear?’ asked Thomasin. ‘Would you like an appetiser before lunch?’
‘Nothing, thank you – an’ don’t expect too much of me at lunch either.’
‘Oh, but you must eat!’ cried Thomasin.
Erin held her with lifeless eyes. ‘Why must I?’
‘Because there’s people here who love ye an’ don’t want to see ye going the way of your dear husband,’ put in Liam.
‘And you’ve been appointed Job’s Comforter, have you, Father?’
Liam held her gaze, thinking how awful she looked, her sparrow-like body hardly filling a corner of the chair. Erin was the first to look away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I have no right to take it out on you.’
Patrick and Thomasin watched helplessly, not knowing what to say. The latter wished that she and Erin were alone. It was hard to voice one’s feelings before an audience. ‘Can’t I get you anything?’ she asked lamely.
Erin moved her head, staring at the wall.
‘D’ye fancy a walk round the garden before lunch?’ asked the priest.
‘For God’s sake, you don’t have to make conversation,’ she flung at them all. ‘Treating me as if I’m some oddity… I wish ye’d all bloody leave me alone.’
‘I asked if ye’d fancy a walk round the garden,’ persevered Liam. ‘I wasn’t thinking to regale ye with yarns of idle palliatives. A little fresh air might just help to sharpen your appetite.’ She didn’t respond. ‘Well?’ he pressed.
‘Oh, all right,’ she returned apathetically and rose to link her arm with that of the old priest.
They wandered over the terrace and stood for a while by a bed of lavender to admire the vista. The garden was in full colour. Designed to meet the previous occupant’s taste it also suited the Feeneys, who had added nothing. The scent of lavender was so strong it stung one’s nostrils. Liam filled his lungs deep. ‘God, that’s beautiful.’
‘I hate it,’ said Erin feelingly, and with her insistent pressure on his arm caused him to move on down the winding path that bisected the lawn.
‘Why?’ asked the priest after a while.
A scarlet fuchsia bled over a crumbling brick wall. Erin pulled off one of the delicate blooms as she passed, fingering it thoughtfully. ‘I always think fuchsias look like little ballerinas in their pretty red dresses, with the stamens like legs,’ she said evasively. They had turned down another shaded walkway before she answered his question, showing no emotion. ‘My baby was born in a lavender patch. He was dead.’
‘Had he lived, what would you have called him?’
Erin frowned at the strange question. ‘Why d’ye ask? He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘But when ye remember Sam ye think of him by name. How d’ye recall the baby?’
‘I recall the blueness of his face… the blood… the smell of lavender.’ There was a pause, then she added decisively, ‘Luke,’ and turned great, pain-filled eyes to him. ‘We were going to name him Luke, Father.’
‘A fine name,’ Liam nodded, diverting his step around a clump of yellow flowers that had sprung from a crack in the paving. ‘He would’ve made a fine man, like his father.’
‘It didn’t do him any good though, did it?’ said Erin, not bitter
ly, just stating a fact. ‘Being a fine man.’
‘That depends on your viewpoint.’ Liam steered her in and out of rosed cloisters. They came upon a sun-warmed bower where a garden seat offered hospice; they took it. ‘If ye believe in the Catholic teaching – an’ I know you do, being a faithful and devout follower – then ye know that death is not the end of everything, only the beginning.’
The same old clichés, thought Erin dully; the reasons she had been keeping him at bay until today. ‘An’ where are my beginnings, Father?’
‘I know ye can’t see them now but give it time, you’ll make them.’
Time! As someone who was going nowhere that’s something she had plenty of.
‘Father,’ she turned her body round to face him, ‘there’s no need for ye to tell me that Sam an’ Luke have gone to a better place; I know that. I’ve always believed in the Hereafter and losing them doesn’t suddenly change that.’
‘But ’tis a comfort to ye?’
‘No!’ she shouted. ‘It should be, but it’s not. I don’t want to know that they’re happy with God, I want them here, with me, they’re my husband, my child. Oh, Father, what am I ever going to do without them?’ She broke down and sobbed against the shoulder that had given comfort to her father before her. ‘I want to be with them.’ He pressed her back so he could study her face, saying gravely, ‘Ye’ll not be doing anything foolish?’
She pulled away, eyes swimming. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll not kill myself. Your teachings are too strongly embossed on my conscience.’ He doesn’t understand either, she thought dejectedly. He’s only concerned with my soul.
‘I’m not,’ said Liam as if he had read her mind. She looked up sharply. ‘Ye think I’m only here to see ye don’t commit an unpardonable offence against the church, but I’m not. If my priestly role can give ye solace then gladly I’ll give it, but Erin, I’m here as your old friend. Talk to me, get rid of your anger, hit me if I talk rubbish, use me to punish God. Yes!’ he shook her gently. ‘I can feel it. Ye do want to punish Him. You’re askin’ yourself how God can be so cruel after all the devotion ye’ve shown Him. Why does it have to happen to me, you’re saying. I can hear your mind screaming with the question. Let it out, shout it at me. Come on, child!’
She denied it strenuously. ‘No! I don’t feel that way, I don’t.’ Then, after repeated, harsh promptings she yelled, ‘Yes! All right I do, I do! Damn God. I hate what He’s done to me. I can’t bear it, Father. Help me. Oh God, please help me!’
The garden fell silent again. A bumblebee hummed dizzily around her ebony head as she wept into Liam’s shoulder. He brushed it away. ‘’Tis a sorry thing for a priest to confess, Erin, but I don’t know how to help ye. ’Tis no good me saying I know how ye feel. How could I know? I do know, though, what it’s like to have your whole life taken away from ye. Sam an’ your children were your life, the church was mine. When something like that happens it brings an emptiness that no amount of well-meaning talk from friends can bridge. I know my loss will seem very meagre compared to your own plight…’
‘Oh no, Father,’ she moved her face against him, ‘I know how much the church means to ye… but,’ puzzlement showed through the tears.
Liam explained the situation.
‘Oh, God, how hurt ye must be,’ sniffed the young woman.
He nodded. ‘I expect it will heal in time or so they’d have us believe. I’m like you at the moment – can’t foresee anything replacing what I’ve lost. I was as miserable as sin for ages after the Bishop broke the news, couldn’t see any point in anything. But, I’m a rational sort o’ fella and pretty soon I got to seeing that I hadn’t quite lost everything. I still had my faith, an’ there were still some folk who needed me.’
‘There’s plenty of us need ye, Father.’ Erin squeezed his hand, tearfully.
‘Thank ye. The same goes for you, Erin. Apart from your parents, your brother, me, ye’ve still a small daughter who needs ye.’
‘Belle.’ It was as if she had completely forgotten, thought Liam, watching her, trying to guess at her thoughts. They finally emerged. ‘She was never as fond o’ me as of Sam.’
‘I’m sure ye do her wrong.’
‘No, I accepted it. I was the same myself when I was a child, followed my dad like a puppy. I just hope she can make do with me now. Sam was so good with her.’
‘I’m sure she’ll get all the love she needs from you, dear,’ whispered Liam, patting her.
Then she put voice to the statement she had kept repeating to herself whilst lying in her sickbed. ‘It’s not fair, so many bad things happening to one person.’
‘I can understand ye thinking of it in that light,’ said Liam carefully. ‘But half the answer lies not in counting the bad things but all the good times you and Sam shared. Ye’d seven good years with each other for a start…’
And four of those years I wasted, came the negative thought.
‘… ye’ve parents who love ye deeply. When I think o’ some o’ the poor children I see… an’ ye have your daughter… she’s a part of Sam ye still have left.’
‘All true of course.’ Erin managed a weak smile. ‘I know I should be thankful for what bit I have of Sam…’ – But oh, Father, her mind sighed. ’Tis not enough. ’Tis not enough.
Chapter Nine
‘What’s your second name, Abigail?’ asked Rosanna, elbows on the kitchen table, watching Cook’s sinewy arm beat at the cake mixture.
‘Nancy,’ replied Abigail, running a tea-cloth briskly over a stack of plates. She was a good-natured girl who had been with the Feeneys for about four years. Quick to make friends she had soon become a favourite with the children, especially when she sneaked biscuits from Cook’s private store.
‘No, I mean your last name,’ said Rosie, wagging her bottom from side to side.
‘Bickerdike.’ Abigail positioned the dried plates on the huge dresser that ran almost the length of one wall. ‘And don’t kneel on that chair, sit down properly, the way you’ve been taught.’
‘Bickerdike.’ Rosanna savoured it, still moving her bottom, now in rhythm. ‘Abigail Bickerdike.’ She grinned and repeated the tongue-twister rapidly. ‘Abigail Bickerdike, Abigail Dipperbike, Agibail Kipperdike.’
‘You mind your manners, Miss Rosie, else I sh’ll ask Cook to let Master Nick clean t’bowl out on his own – and sit down, will you?’
Undeterred, Rosie asked, ‘What about Belle, doesn’t she get a turn?’
‘I shouldn’t think she’ll notice,’ muttered Cook under her breath, glancing at Abigail as she whipped up the mixture with a wooden spoon. Here was none of the plumpness that one usually visualised when provided with the word ‘cook’. A woman of dour countenance, her forehead was wrinkled in a perpetual state of apprehension, the lips pale and turned down at the edges. ‘God knows why the master’s asked me to make this here birthday cake for her. T’poor child doesn’t know whether she’s three or thirty-three.’ Her currant-brown eyes took in briefly the little girl seated with the others, chewing on a carrot that Cook had given her that they might enjoy some quiet. She stopped mixing to examine Belle. ‘Just look at her, Abigail,’ she said in furtive voice. ‘I mean, what point was there in bringing that into the world?’
‘Careful, Mrs Howgego,’ muttered Abigail between her teeth. ‘I can see little lugs flappin’.’
‘It’s all right, I won’t tell, Abi,’ said Rosanna as Mrs Howgego resumed her mixing. The words brought work to yet another standstill.
‘Eh, listen to that!’ declared Cook to the maid, then to Rosanna, ‘You’ve been in t’knife box again, Miss Rosie; too sharp for your own good.’
‘Why don’t you like Belle?’ asked the child, throwing a profusion of dark curls off her face.
‘Eh, you do ask some questions! Doesn’t she, Abigail?’ Cook scraped the mixture into a baking tin and moved briskly towards the oven.
‘But why?’
Cook tutted and looked uncomfortably at Belle. ‘Well…
I don’t dislike her, Miss Rosie…’
‘It’s because she doesn’t speak,’ contributed Nicholas. ‘She frightens people when she just looks at them.’
‘S’truth, I think he’s been in t’knife box with her.’ Cook nudged the maid. ‘Honestly, them two. They certainly make up for t’other one, don’t they?’ She rounded on Nick. ‘Now then, Master Nicholas, what would you be knowing about all that?’
‘I heard Nan saying it to Grandad,’ provided the small boy, unaware of the breach of etiquette. ‘She said it made her feel creepy when Belle just stared at her.’ He found it hard to understand grown-ups. One minute they were complaining that you were making too much noise, the next they were saying Belle didn’t make enough noise.
‘An’ what did the master have to say to that?’ Abigail flashed a barely perceptible wink at Cook.
‘He told Nan off.’ Nick drew a pattern in the flour that had been spilt on the table.
‘I’ll bet he did,’ muttered Cook as she turned her back. ‘He won’t have no wrong said about any of them bairns. I’ll say that for him, he treats ’em all equal.’ She pushed the mixing bowl at Nick. ‘There you are then, children. Miss Rosie, fetch yourself a spoon. Master Nick, get the wooden one to lick.’
‘Master Nick get the wooden one to lick,’ sang Rosie, jumping from the chair. ‘Master Nick get the wooden one to lick! Shall I fetch one for Belle?’
‘I suppose so,’ sighed the cook. She started on another task. ‘Isn’t it funny how them bairns never notice anything up with her? She’s just another playmate to them.’
‘I should’ve thought that was a good thing,’ replied Abigail. ‘Poor little tyke, it’d be rotten if the kids were agen her an’ all. I think she’s a lovely little thing meself.’
‘Granted she’s got an angelic little face,’ said Mrs Howgego. ‘But I mean, look at rest of her. It looks as if somebody’s used her for a squeeze-box. An’ it makes it worse her not talkin’. I must say I have to agree with the mistress; she makes you feel uncomfortable the way she looks at you. I’ve never seen eyes as blue as that on a bairn. They don’t look human.’
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