He stopped cavorting. ‘Yer wha’? At least I don’t wear big clomping boots like you.’
‘No – because you can’t afford any.’ Belle sneered at his naked, dusty feet.
He crossed his arms and locked his eyes to her special boots. ‘Why’s one big n’ one small? What’re they for?’
‘This,’ replied Belle and dealt him an almighty crack to the shin.
The boy burst into tears. ‘I’m gonna tell me dad o’ you!’ and ran off into the crowd.
‘Tell him I’ll give him one too!’ shouted Belle and her scowl split into a wicked grin at Nick who laughed aloud.
‘Wait till I tell Gramps.’
‘Don’t tell him, ninny!’ Belle’s heart still palpitated with the exchange. ‘If Mother hears what’s gone on she’ll never let me out again. This is just what she’s been afraid of. She thinks I’ll be upset when people call me names.’
‘Does it truly not affect you?’ asked her cousin.
‘Pooh! Why should it?’ she lied. ‘Names never hurt anyone. Besides, one has to put up with these troublesome episodes from one’s inferiors.’
Nick wondered where she had heard that little gem. There was no doubt that she meant it, either. Belle did have a superior air about her. He sighed heavily. ‘I wonder if Gramp’s found Rosie yet. She’s such a pest.’
* * *
It was as Patrick passed the tent marked ‘Curiosities’ that he finally found her. She emerged from beneath the canvas wearing a lollipop in her mouth and a frown on her forehead. ‘Rosanna, come here at once!’ He marched up to her and took her by the shoulder. ‘Has the devil got into ye? What’s the meaning of your running off like that?’
‘Oh hello, Gramps.’ She broke out of her vague frown to smile up at him.
‘I’ll give ye hello, young lady! D’ye realise I thought ye’d been kidnapped? I’ve been running about all over the place tryin’ to find ye.’
She took his hand. ‘Sorry, Gramps. I was on my way to the lucky bag when I saw this funny lady and decided to come in here.’
‘Ye shouldn’t’ve even gone to the lucky bag without me. Anything could’ve happened to ye. Come along now, let’s go find your brother an’ Belle.’ He gripped her sticky little hand, ‘Gob, what a mess!’ and led her through the hubbub. ‘What did ye want to go in there for anyway? That’s no place for a young lady.’
‘I wanted to see what a freak looked like,’ she responded after relieving her mouth of the lollipop. ‘You never answered me before when I asked.’
‘You want to know too much for your own good, miss,’ he told her. Then, after a short pause, ‘Well, did ye find out what a freak was?’
She pulled the lollipop noisily from her mouth again, smacking her lips. ‘I’m not sure. There was a lady with a beard and a great big fat man, some animals with five legs – I didn’t like them, they frightened me – a gigantic pig, a man with pins sticking out all over his body – he hardly had any clothes on… Then I saw a tiny little man, he was only as big as me but he was a grown-up. I thought he was a little boy at first, but when I spoke to him he said grown-up words.’
Patrick glanced down at her. ‘What did ye say to him?’
‘I said I was looking for the freak and asked him if he was it.’
Patrick cringed. ‘An’ what did he say?’
‘He said naughty words that Abigail sometimes says to Cook when she thinks no one’s listening. The other words he said weren’t bad ones, I’m allowed to say those. He said, “Mm-mm off, you little mm-mm”.’
Despite himself Patrick couldn’t help the short laugh that burst from his lips. Even at her naughtiest Rosanna could always get round him. ‘How did ye get in there in the first place? Ye had no money left.’
‘I sneaked underneath the tent.’ She bit the last of the lollipop from the stick and proceeded to crunch it noisily.
‘For Heaven’s sake, child, d’ye have to do that? Ye’re setting me teeth on edge. So, did ye find your freak, then?’
‘I don’t know. If I knew what one looked like I’d know if I’d seen one. Don’t you know either, Gramps?’
‘Ah, Rosie,’ he sighed. ‘I suppose ye could say that a freak is something or somebody that isn’t like other people.’
‘So all the people in there were freaks?’
‘Yes, ye could say – but it’s not a nice word to call folk. I wouldn’t want to hear you saying it to anyone.’
‘That’s why the little man was rude?’
He nodded. ‘Ye hurt his feelings.’
‘I see. But if it upsets him to be called that, why was he in there?’
‘Because he gets paid for being insulted, Rosie. ’Tis probably the only way he can earn a living.’
‘You mean he couldn’t do proper work because he’s so small?’
‘Well, there are jobs he could do, but ye saw the amount o’ people who were queueing to see him an’ the others; he probably earns a better living that way.’
‘Some of the people were laughing at him,’ divulged Rosanna. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Sometimes folk laugh at things like that because they’re stupid an’ cruel. Others laugh because they’re relieved that they don’t look like the little man.’
‘Why was he so little?’ asked the girl. ‘I’m bigger than him and I’m only nine and a half.’
Lost for an answer, Patrick was relieved to spot his other grandchildren. ‘Ah, there’s Belle and Nick still where I put them.’ Reaching them he patted both on the head. ‘Good as gold. Everything all right?’
‘Yes, Gramps,’ said Belle quickly.
Rejoining his hand with Rosanna’s he held the other out to Belle. ‘You hold Belle’s other hand, Nick, so we don’t lose each other again.’ He happened to glance at Rosanna who was staring at Belle closely. ‘Rosanna.’ The tone held a warning. She uplifted quizzical blue eyes to meet his face, the question forming on her lips, but when she saw the stern features she merely smiled instead and kept the enquiry to herself. She must never say that word in front of Belle.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Oh, mercy on us, if it isn’t the skew-whiff brigade!’ cried Patrick as the grandchildren tumbled into the drawing room for the usual story before they went to bed. ‘I’m glad to see ye’ve got all that sticky stuff off your faces before ye come climbing all over me. Right, whose turn is it for the old lap?’
They started to argue. ‘Mine! Me-e. No, it was your turn yesterday, I want a go. Grandfather, tell Nick he must sit on the stool!’
‘Simmer down! We’ll decide this sensibly. I’ve only the two knees so one of yese will have to sit on the stool. Nick, if I remember rightly you gave my poor leg a right punishing when ye took your place yesterday. I’d hardly forget that in a hurry – even if you’re pretending to now. So, ’tis Rosie n’ Belle on my lap an’ you for the stool, old lad.’
‘’S not fair,’ mumbled Nick. ‘They have more goes than I do.’
‘Snot fair, where’s that? Sounds a filthy place to me. Now sit there on that stool an’ do as you’re bidden. A gentleman should always let the ladies go before. Right, I believe Rosie chose the story last night an’ Nick the day before, so ’tis Belle’s turn. What shall we have tonight, Belle dear? Ah God!’ he hugged her impulsively. ‘Ye’re a bonny wee thing. I love ye.’
‘D’you love me too, Grandfather?’ asked Rosanna, cupping a small hand to his cheek. The installation of Belle as rival prompted the need to seek assurance that Patrick loved her as much as he ever did.
‘Ah, I surely do.’ He delivered a resounding kiss on her forehead. ‘Nick too. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you three.’
Rosie pillowed her head on his chest, snuggling into his maleness. It wasn’t as comfortable as sitting on Mother’s lap – no soft platform on which to lay one’s head – but Grandfather’s cuddles were the best of all. Belle, annoyingly, had done likewise. Rosie closed her eyes and tried to pretend she had sole rights on the property.
> Patrick assumed a posture of deep concentration. ‘Let’s see. Ah yes, I think we’ll have that one.’ He settled himself more comfortably. ‘There was once this woman called Sinead who had a baby boy, the most beautiful baby ye ever saw, the fairest in all Ireland. He was so bonny in fact that his mother thought the fairies would come and steal him away in the night – as they sometimes do. Even though she kept him in skirts to confuse them into thinkin’ he was a girl – for the little people don’t seem so fond o’ the colleens – she still couldn’t get the fear out of her mind. It became an obsession with her…’
‘What’s an obsession?’ cut in Belle.
‘Well, ’tis like you thinkin’, I wonder if we’ll have iced buns for tea and wonderin’ an’ wonderin’ all afternoon till ye can think o’ nothing else but them iced buns an’ feel ye might die if Abi doesn’t serve them up.’ He went on with the tale. ‘Well, Sinead got to thinkin’ what she could do an’ pretty soon she hit upon a splendid idea. If the baby was made ugly then the fairies weren’t likely to steal him, were they?’
‘No.’
‘So, she took a great hammer and she bashed him over the nose – three times just for luck an’ pretty soon his perky little nose looked as if it’d been stood on by an elephant. Sinead stood back and looked at him an’ thought, sure that’s a big improvement, but what if the blankets are covering his nose an’ the wee folk see those wonderful eyes? They’re sure to take him. So, she plucked out his eyes an’ stuck them back the wrong way round so that they kinda looked at each other over the smashed-up nose. An’ Sinead stood back to take another look an’ thought, but what if the blankets are right up over his face so’s the wee folk can only see that golden hair? So she took a razor an’ shaved it all off. Well now, ye can imagine the state o’ the poor wee fella.’
‘Horrible,’ said Rosanna.
‘Now, one night the fairies, having heard o’ the wondrous-lookin’ babe, did come. They snuck up to his crib in the middle o’ the night with one o’ them holding up a candle to light their dirty deed. “Jaze!” cried the one with the candle, “what a monster! What a horrible lookin’ sight.” “What a revolting child,” said another. “That’s no baby, somebody’s chucked a broken egg on the pillow – a bad one at that – will ye look at the colour o’ the yolk.” Ye see, the fairy was referring to the baby’s eyes which with all the bashing they’d received did look like bad scrambled egg. Anyway, the wee folk said, sure we can’t take that horrible thing back, the others’ll think we’ve gone crazy. So they left. Well, the years passed an’ the babe grew into a young man an’ started to look for a wife. Well o’ course he was so ugly that none o’ the colleens would even entertain him – ran a mile when he so much as smiled at them. His poor mother was at her wits’ end tryin’ to find someone who’d take him on, for after all these years she was sick o’ the sight of him herself. One day she was passing a stream with her son an’ up pops a creature who was almost as ugly as himself an’ says, “Jazers, isn’t he the wondrous sight, I’d surely like to take him for me husband.” Sinead looked at her son an’ wondered if she an’ the creature could be looking at the same person and said so. The creature replied that Sinead’s son was the only thing she had ever seen who was even uglier than herself an’ if folks were busy taking their fun out o’ him they might be leaving herself in peace. Well, the son didn’t want to go, but Sinead pushed him into the stream where he was promptly married to the creature. He hated it down there. He hated his wife, but nevertheless, like most married couples, the two produced a child which if anything was even more ugly than its father. It took such torment from the rest o’ the creatures of the stream that it immediately buried itself beneath the mud an’ wouldn’t come out for nobody. Until… one day a shaft of light speared his watery home making him inquisitive as to what might be going on above the surface. Feeling a little afraid he pulled himself from his hole and with the aid of a reed dragged his ugly body towards the dazzling sunlight. Once out there o’ course he didn’t want to go back, but he wondered just how he would get along with the other beautiful creatures he saw.
‘Then all at once he felt his body tighten, the heat of the sun seemed to shrivel him up. He felt as if he was about to burst his skin. And lo and behold that’s just what he did. An’ wonder upon wonders! he discovered that under that ugly casing had been hidden a huge pair o’ wings.
‘The dragonfly – for that was what he was – opened and shut these wings, hardly believing the sight of them. Then suddenly, along came another just like him an’ she winked her eye an’ he thought, “Jaze, surely she can’t be winkin’ at me”, but then he looked at his wings again an’ saw that they were the same as hers; they shone like the colours of the rainbow, an’ as he flapped them they lifted him up into the air to meet his lady love an’ that poor, ugly creature knew that he was ugly no longer, but the most beautiful…’
‘Creature in all Ireland!’ finished Rosanna. ‘Oh, Gramps, you do tell such lovely stories. Who told them to you?’
‘My father. He was a grand class of a man for the tales.’
‘Tell us about him,’ ordered Rosanna, making herself more comfortable on his knee.
‘Ah, I don’t fall for the old coddum that easy! ’Tis just a ploy to keep ye from your beds a while longer. Ye know all there is to know about my old dad.’
Rosanna swore she had forgotten and Patrick laughed. ‘Rosanna Feeney, I know you inside out. Ye’re always trying to get round this old duffer.’
‘Oh, just another five minutes.’ Belle joined her plea to Rosie’s. ‘It’s the only bit of fun I have all day.’
Patrick’s smile lost a little of its buoyancy. The child was right there. He hoped Erin would think the end product was worth robbing Belle of her childhood. ‘Ah, all right, colleen, but if your mother comes for ye then ye must go.’
‘I wish my mother had gone away like Rosie and Nick’s,’ said Belle petulantly. Sonny had gone to Nottinghamshire to carry out a commission, taking Josie and baby Elizabeth with him. He would be busy for many weeks as the job involved turning the plain ceiling of a mansion into a masterpiece.
‘Belle, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ reproved Patrick. ‘After all she’s done for you. Ye know ye’d miss your mammy if she wasn’t here.’
I wouldn’t, thought Belle. I hate all this work she makes me do. But she lowered a remorseful face to her chest. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Will you tell us about your father and when you were a litle boy? Please.’
Patrick scratched his head. ‘’Tis hard to remember such a long time back.’
‘How old are you, Gramps?’ asked Rosanna. ‘Nick says you’re ninety-three but I said more like seventy-three.’
‘Oh, that’s enormously kind o’ ye,’ said an indignant grandfather and diverted their inquisitiveness with another of his Irish tales.
‘It must be lovely in Ireland,’ said Rosie dreamily. ‘Why did you come here?’
He breathed out the old sadness. ‘There was a terrible disease came one night and killed all the praties. We were starving.’
‘Didn’t you have any biscuits to eat?’ enquired Nick.
Patrick gazed down at his scrubbed and innocent face.
That was the extent of his grandchildren’s knowledge: when you were hungry you ate a biscuit until it was dinnertime. Patrick thanked God it was so, but nevertheless wanted them to know that it hadn’t always been thus for this family. ‘We didn’t have any biscuits, Nick. We didn’t have cake, we didn’t have bread even. Just the praties. Our livelihood depended on the potato an’ when the blight came it killed every pratie in Ireland in the one week. Imagine that.’ He looked into each attentive face. ‘Think what it would be like if Mrs Howgego suddenly decided to stop cooking and Abigail wouldn’t get the groceries in. The larder would soon be empty, would it not? Think of the noises your bellies would make when ye opened the larder door an’ saw only empty shelves. What would ye do then?’
‘I’d dismiss Cook an
d Abigail,’ said his grandson emphatically, ‘and go round to the shop myself.’
‘But where would ye get the money?’
‘I’d ask you for some,’ answered the boy logically.
‘But what if I refused to give it to ye – besides, there were no shops where I came from.’
‘We could always go and ask one of our neighbours for some food,’ donated Belle.
Another obstacle. ‘Your neighbours are in the same pickle.’
The children looked to each other for an answer. Patrick provided it. ‘I’ll tell ye what ye do – ye starve, an’ then ye die.’
‘But, you’re still here, Gramps,’ pointed out Rosanna.
‘I’m here.’ Patrick loosened his grip on her to point a finger at the floor. ‘But I’m not where I was born. I’m in a foreign country. The only way I and most of the others who survived did so was to leave our Mother country and go to America or England where we might find work. Many of those who stayed to weather the blight perished; they looked like skeletons.’
‘Did your father die?’ asked Belle quietly.
Patrick looked at her and his eyelids lowered in affirmation. ‘I think so. I never heard no more of him. The last I remember is the old man shoving his harp at me – that’s the one your mammy taught ye to play, Belle. Faith, he loved that thing… I neither heard nor saw of him again.’
‘Will you go back some day?’ queried Rosanna.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I always said I would but sure I’m getting old now an’ I seem to’ve collected so many things around me that I’m not certain I’d want to leave.’
‘You could go for a holiday,’ suggested Belle brightly. ‘And take me. I’d love to see Ireland.’
‘Oh, so would I,’ issued Rosanna, piqued that Belle had said ‘take me’ and not ‘us’ as she would have done. Rosie loved to hear her grandfather speak of the land he so obviously ached for. It appeared to her as some magic land in a fairytale – Paradise, Utopia.
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