Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  Clara held up a fat little hand and said politely, ‘My apologies for interrupting, Thomasin, but I don’t quite follow. You wish us to assist with the demolition?’ There were peals of laughter as she added, ‘I really cannot see myself wielding a pick.’

  ‘Clara, this is serious! Yet another part of our heritage is about to be completely destroyed and all you can do is joke about it.’

  Clara controlled her chuckle. ‘Pray forgive me if I’ve offended you, my dear, but I really can’t see what it is you expect us to do – join forces with the Yorkshire… what is it?’

  ‘To put it briefly, Clara, the Yorkshire Architectural Society has been responsible for halting the council in many of its proposed acts of vandalism. In the past fifty years this council and its predecessors have succeeded in demolishing three of the four Barbicans to the city gates, various postern gates, huge sections of the city’s defences, churches… don’t you care that by the time your grandchildren reach adulthood there may be none of this ancient craftsmanship left in our beautiful city?’

  ‘Surely that is progress, dear?’ tendered a meek-looking woman.

  Thomasin emitted a sharp laugh. ‘A multitude of sins can be committed under the guise of progress, Laura.’ Her determined expression embraced them all. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to sit there and let them get away with it. Where’s your spirit?’

  ‘Thomasin, it’s only a few old bricks they’re getting rid of,’ said Clara. ‘Insufficient in my opinion to warrant such emotive talk.’

  ‘A few old… Clara, where have you been living all your life? Certainly not in the same city as me. Have you never wondered how many horses it took to drag those great slabs of stone from the quarries? How many craftsmen chiselled and set each piece into such an impressive monument?’ At their bemused glances she fell back in her chair. ‘You really don’t care, do you? I’ll wager not one of you would shed a tear if the Minster were knocked down tomorrow and its stone used as a foundation for a new fashion house.’

  There was indignation then. ‘It’s ridiculous to compare the Minster with a bit of crumbling wall!’ cried Clara. ‘I’m sure every citizen would be most put out if…’

  ‘But how can you say when these people will stop!’ Thomasin fought down the urge to swear. ‘Today the walls, tomorrow the Minster!’

  ‘Thomasin, you really are making the most awful fuss over nothing,’ accused Clara. ‘The Minster is a place of worship, one of the country’s most important cathedrals, they’d never knock it down. Now that would be a worthy cause for us to fly our banner, would it not, ladies?’ There were murmurs of affirmation.

  ‘I agree it is impressive,’ replied Thomasin impatiently. ‘But to me the walls are every bit as impressive in their simplicity – and the lack of adornment doesn’t make them any the less significant historically. They’ve survived sieges and wars, surely we can help them withstand a handful of modern assassins?’

  At this point Abigail arrived with the tea, which was unfortunate, as it destroyed totally Thomasin’s moment of passion. ‘Ah, refreshment—’ Clara accepted the cup that Abigail handed to her, then, turning away from Thomasin, began to chatter to her neighbour. ‘How is your tapestry coming along, Theodora? You mentioned you were having difficulty…’

  Thomasin’s enthusiasm dwindled as she listened to the motiveless twittering, wondering if they would feel the same if it were their own garden walls the council proposed to demolish. Oh well, there was nothing to stop her joining the Society on her own, and it would make a change to enter into pertinent discussions rather than the drivel she had to put up with now. Boredom caused her to think of Erin and what she might be doing. ‘Abigail,’ she put the cup in its saucer, ‘go ask Mrs Teale if she’d like to join us for a while.’ She told her companions, ‘My daughter’s still in such low spirits. It’s a lame hope that she’ll join us. I’ve been trying to coax her out of her despondency for weeks, but one can only try.’

  She was pleasantly surprised when Abigail returned to say that Erin would join them directly. ‘Oh, that’s most heartening – she must be feeling better.’

  ‘Is she still possessed by her husband’s tragic demise?’ asked a concerned Clara, receiving a nod. ‘Such a terrible shock… and losing one’s baby, too.’

  ‘Dreadful,’ said Thomasin. ‘I’ve never seen anyone so… oh!’

  Erin had appeared. She was carrying Belle – Thomasin had not foreseen that. A few awkward seconds passed before she recovered her composure. ‘Come in, dear, and sit down. I’m glad you decided to come down, it’ll make a nice change for you. Would you like to pass the baby to Abi and take your tea more comfortably?’

  ‘No, that’s all right, thank ye.’ Erin inclined her head to the ladies as she moved among them. ‘I don’t want tea, just company.’ She had hoped to find this when Josie moved in but the girl seemed ill at ease with her.

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of that here.’ The women were staring at Belle who had been deposited on the carpet. Thomasin fought for some comment that might distract them. ‘Returning to my topic, I was just trying to instil some sort of historical awareness in our…’

  ‘Oh, Thomasin, please!’ Clara flapped an impatient hand. ‘Enough of those dreary walls – leave that to the Society you mentioned. Hello, my dear.’ She leaned forward to speak to Belle. ‘Such a pretty thing. And what is your name?’

  Belle affixed luminescent eyes to the polite face. ‘She can’t speak,’ supplied Erin candidly.

  ‘Oh, how unfortunate,’ replied the woman, drawing back to sip at her tea and examine Belle from a safe distance.

  As if reading Clara’s unspoken hope – that Belle would remain where she was – the child lurched into her grotesque mode of travel, pausing only to study the captive audience and making directly for Clara. Thomasin thought they would never leave. She sat on the very edge of her chair, contributing desultory remarks designed to lure the eyes away, but no one seemed at all interested in her son’s exhibition at the newly-opened art gallery. She saw – could hardly miss – the interplayed looks, some of pity, others of a more feline quality. They couldn’t wait to get home and tell their husbands: ‘Guess what?’

  ‘Will you be joining us at next month’s gathering, Mrs Teale?’ asked Clara now, drawing in her legs with alarm as Belle put out a hand to examine the shiny silk.

  ‘I may do,’ answered Erin vaguely. She’s in one of her trances again, thought her mother. ‘I certainly enjoyed today’s company.’

  How can she fail to notice? thought Thomasin with amazement. Their opinions are so obvious.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ smiled Clara while eyeing the child with distaste. ‘I’m sure we have all enjoyed yours. I think however,’ she placed her cup on the tray, ‘it is time we were taking our leave. Doesn’t time fly when one has interesting companions?’

  Thomasin watched the others make ready to go. ‘May I take it that no one shares my concern about the council’s proposal?’

  ‘Dear Thomasin,’ Clara replied for them, ‘I’m sure you are very sincere in your intentions but I really think it is asking a little too much of our committee to take on the might of the council, even if we shared your views. Our meetings are usually such fun – discussion of social topics, the exchange of receipts – please, could we keep them that way? I cannot speak for the others but if I hear a conversation of a political nature I tend to steer well clear.’

  ‘Very well.’ Thomasin’s voice was curt as she rang for Abigail. ‘Maybe one of you could think of some item for next month’s agenda. The subject of my choice is obviously not to your taste.’

  ‘I do hope you are not offended,’ said Clara worriedly. ‘I wouldn’t insult you for the world, Thomasin. Normally your choice of subject is most agreeable. It’s just that I feel… well, this is a women’s group, dear. We should confine our discussions to those feminine topics with which we are more familiar.’

  Abigail saw them into the hall, handing out coats.

 
‘Well,’ said Clara under her breath, a glint in her eye. ‘What did you make of that?’

  ‘About the demolition of the walls?’ ventured Laura.

  ‘Goose,’ muttered Clara. ‘The child! What a tragedy for that poor woman. To be so talented and have such a stain on one’s family. Of course, one tends to forget that they are only trade people…’ She slipped her arms into the coat which Abigail held. ‘I hope Mrs Teale won’t choose to make a habit of bringing the child to our meetings should she decide to join us. I really couldn’t abide being in the same room with that odd little creature looking at me all the time. And I certainly cannot understand Thomasin allowing her daughter to parade it so unashamedly. If it were me I should have it hidden away.’

  ‘Why do you suppose we haven’t seen it before today?’ asked another impishly. ‘Thomasin has obviously been attempting to keep it a secret. Did you see her face when her daughter brought it in? I thought she was going to pass out.’ There were soft giggles.

  Abigail bit her lip so hard she almost put her teeth through it. If Mrs Teale could hear the things them bitches were saying about poor Miss Belle. And if the master knew – God! he’d kick every one of them up the bustle. Still, Abigail helped the last woman on with her coat, tugging it roughly over the shoulders, he wouldn’t hear it from Abigail. It didn’t do to repeat what one heard.

  * * *

  Clara’s hopes that Erin would come unaccompanied to further committee meetings were in vain. It was simply terrible, she declared afterwards, to sit through a meeting with that misshapen oddity slithering about one’s feet. One never knew where it was going to put its grubby little hands. She finally announced that she could not sit through another hour such as the last. Many of the others thought similarly and with each month their numbers began to diminish.

  Thomasin was quite aware of the reason for these shrinking attendances. She also knew the remedy and in her bleakest moods often came close to it. But oh, how hurt Erin would be if asked not to bring her daughter to any more meetings. No, there was only one solution; she would simply resign. At least if she did it now she might save a little face. She was damned if she was going to sit by and watch them all drop out. From a personal stance the meetings would not be missed – she had joined the YAS now and what time she did not spend at the store was dedicated to saving buildings of historical importance – but it was a great pity from Erin’s point of view because the meetings had clearly done her a lot of good. After first having to be drawn into the conversation by her mother she had now begun to initiate it herself. So sad that it had to finish, but if Erin realised why people no longer came to the meetings it would set her back months.

  This month’s sparsely-attended gathering was coming to a close. Laura, one of the three loyals, shut the Minute book and was about to tuck it into her bag.

  ‘Before you put that away, Laura,’ said Thomasin, rising, ‘I have something to add. You are all aware, I’m sure, how busy I am with two stores to supervise. Well, I am finding it increasingly difficult to create any spare time for my family lately, let alone for myself. Much as I love these chats of ours it would not be fair to use what little leisure time I have so selfishly. So, it is with great regret that I must resign my position as Chairwoman.’

  Soft murmurs of mock regret met her announcement. ‘Should the economy allow you any free time in the future, Thomasin, I’m sure you will be made most welcome at our meetings,’ ventured Laura kindly. ‘Are you certain you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Thomasin with dignity. ‘Besides, at the present rate of resignation there will soon be no one left to chair. I must say, there seems to be a great deal of ill-health around lately. But perhaps the contagion will be alleviated when those afflicted come to hear of my own resignation.’

  Laura looked at the others uncomfortably. ‘Well, I trust we won’t lose touch completely, Thomasin.’

  Her hostess, ringing for Abigail, assured her they wouldn’t. ‘Even in my absence I’m quite sure you’ll keep me in your conversations, Laura.’

  The woman blushed and, after much stuttered leavetaking, went out with the maid.

  ‘I didn’t think ye were so busy at the store lately,’ said a puzzled and somewhat disappointed Erin when they had gone.

  ‘I’m not really,’ confessed her mother. ‘It was just an excuse. I’ve grown sick of these meetings. We never discuss anything of importance, just knitting, sewing… When I try to direct them towards something more meaningful look what happens. Well, they can feed their faces somewhere else, I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Well, I say it was very self-centred of you to break up the committee without thinking of anyone else.’

  ‘Breaking up the committee? Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, Erin, but there was little left to break up. And when you say “anyone else” do you refer to yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’ Erin’s face showed her displeasure. ‘I’d started to look forward to something for a change…’

  Thomasin showed sympathy, laying a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, love… but, oh they’re such an awfully shallow crowd, Erin. If it’s purely the company you’ll miss wouldn’t you rather join me at the YAS? That would furnish you with a pastime – something more worthwhile. That’s how I felt anyway. Would you like me to have a word for someone to propose you as a member? I’ve not been there long enough myself.’

  Erin gave an apathetic shrug. ‘Oh… I don’t care. Do what ye like.’ She sank back in her chair.

  Thomasin studied her carefully. She looked healthy enough, but there was no sparkle. ‘What you need is a holiday, my girl, away from all of us. You’re not going to improve while you’re stuck in the house all day. What about a couple of weeks at Harrogate to take the waters? It’s a marvellous tonic, they say.’

  ‘What’re ye on about “improve”? There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Oh, come on, lass…’

  ‘I don’t know what ye all expect of me,’ flared Erin. ‘Am I supposed to be throwing parties – after what’s happened?’

  Thomasin came to sit beside Erin. ‘I’m not condemning you for the way you are, all I’m suggesting is that a break might help you to come to terms with it. Harrogate’s a lovely place, you know. Come on, a couple of weeks – I can write off today and book you a place.’

  ‘It’d be a bit awkward for Belle.’

  ‘When I said away from all of us I meant all of us, Belle included – especially Belle. I think it’s all the time you spend worrying about her that’s made you ill.’

  ‘I’ve told ye, I’m not ill.’

  ‘All right,’ challenged her mother. ‘Tell me you’re fine. Look me in the face and tell me. No, you can’t, see, because you’re not all right. Now, I’m telling you you’re taking that holiday.’

  ‘I can’t see what enjoyment I’ll get from going on my own,’ protested Erin. ‘I’ll be thinking of Belle all the time, wondering if she’s being cared for.’

  Thomasin pretended to be hurt. ‘I have had babies of my own, Erin.’

  ‘Not like her, though.’ Erin looked down at the child who seemed to be engrossed in their every word. After a deliberate pause she added, ‘Ye don’t really like her, do ye, Mam?’ There was no accusation there. Erin’s brief spark of animation had relapsed.

  The hurt was not an affectation this time. ‘What an awful thing to say! She’s my grand-daughter. I treat her the same as the others.’

  ‘Ye give her the same material things,’ granted Erin. ‘But it’s as if ye’re afraid to show her the same affection that ye give to Rosie an’ Nick.’

  ‘I was right about you needing a holiday,’ declared Thomasin, skilfully evading a truthful response. ‘Saying rubbish like that.’ She rose and marched up to Belle, sweeping her off the carpet with a noisy kiss. ‘There! Doesn’t your mother talk nonsense? Come on, we’ll go up to the schoolroom to see what your cousins are up to, give your mam five minutes’ rest.’ She shoved a footstool up to Eri
n’s chair with a toe. ‘Get your feet up, lass – and while you’re at it rest your brain an’ all. Eh, I don’t know!’ She marched purposefully from the room.

  But outside the schoolroom she paused, her vigour evaporated. The door was slightly ajar; through it she could see the eager alert faces of her other grandchildren, heard the kindly, informative voice of their governess. Her burden was making its weight felt. Thomasin put a timid hand around Belle’s back to support her, forced herself to move her fingers over the malformed spine, feeling every groove.

  Instead of going into the schoolroom she changed direction and wandered miserably along the landing, coming to her own room. Here, she settled herself on the straight-backed chair beside her washstand, the child on her knee. Everything seemed to be closing in on her. Such despair. She hadn’t fooled Erin for one moment; even whilst trying not to notice the look of non-belief as she had left the room she had known that.

  ‘Oh, Belle.’ Her voice was weighed down with her problems. ‘What’s life got in store for you, eh?’ A hand came up to stroke the black curls. ‘Come to that, what’s it got in store for me?’ The Lord knew she had no right to complain. Apart from a slight dip in profits last year her business was making her richer by the hour. The Parliament Street store was now composed of two floors with another in the making. She had purchased a warehouse on the Foss and two barges to ferry her wares from the docks; the elimination of yet another middleman. Where finance was concerned she couldn’t put a foot wrong. But what of her private life? Her marriage? That it was on very shaky ground was of her own making, she knew. She had shut Pat out after Dickie’s death. Oh, she was a hypocrite, telling Erin that time would heal the pain of Sam’s death when the lesion of her son’s demise had not yet knitted after all this time. Would it ever? Did one ever truly get over the death of one’s child? Would she ever be able to look upon Rosie – so like her natural father – and not see Dickie being swallowed up by flames? And what of this poor, crippled child, yet another cause of the widening rift between Pat and herself. Would there ever be a time when she could introduce Belle proudly as she did the others and say, ‘This is my grand-daughter’, instead of trying to hide her away from her fickle, fair-weather friends; from the world. She felt a hot prickle of shame for the way she had contemplated asking Erin not to bring Belle to those blasted meetings, and all for the sake of keeping a few shallow companions who wanted to be associated with the affluent Mrs Feeney but not with the grandmother of a crippled, mute child.