Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘He’ll have to go for a piddle soon,’ yawned Belle, still in her hiding place on the landing. ‘He’s had all that wine at dinner and he’ll have had some port with Gramps. He must be bursting. I would be.’

  ‘God, I wish he’d hurry up,’ complained Rosanna. ‘I’m nearly falling asleep and my back’s killing me.’

  ‘Shush, you two!’ hissed Nick. ‘They’re coming out.’ The children became alert as the two men paused in the hall to undergo a brief exchange. Patrick pointed up the stairs and the children ducked out of sight as the guest parted company with his host and began to ascend the stairs. They remained hidden until he had passed and disappeared into the lavatory further down the landing. ‘Right, hum,’ said Belle. ‘We’ve only a few minutes.’ By the time the cistern sounded the children were safely tucked up in their beds. Francis emerged from the bathroom tugging at his jacket and adjusting his collar. Try as he might he could not recall what happened next, but his hosts, alerted by the series of dull thuds, the brief cry of surprise and the sound of breaking crockery, rushed from the drawing room to find their unconscious guest at the foot of the stairs amid a pile of broken plant-pot, blood on his temple and soil all over the tiled floor.

  ‘Oh, my God, what now?’ Thomasin picked up her skirts and pattered swiftly to the spreadeagled figure, kneeling over him and tapping his white face. ‘Francis! Francis! Pat, it looks like he’s dead.’

  There was a groan to indicate otherwise. ‘No, he’s just unconscious,’ said Patrick. ‘Sonny, give us a hand to lift him into the drawing room.’

  Between them they half-carried, half-dragged their guest into the drawing room and deposited him on the sofa. Thomasin poured out a glass of brandy and pressed it to his lips. Francis coughed and gasped as the sharp liquid went down the wrong channel and, pushing it away, tried to sit up.

  ‘Oh dear, my head.’ Tenderly he held his throbbing skull and just as quickly brought the hand away, sucking in his breath.

  ‘Erin, go fetch a bowl of water and bandages,’ ordered Thomasin. ‘Francis, whatever happened?’

  He groaned and lay back. ‘I don’t know. One minute I was coming down the stairs and the next I’m at the bottom with all of you around me.’

  ‘There might be a loose stair-rod,’ said Patrick and went off to check. When he returned his face was noncommittal.

  ‘Was it the stair-rod?’ Thomasin was forced to ask. Please God, don’t let it be, she begged. I couldn’t stand another disaster. Francis will get the impression we’re trying to kill him off.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ answered her husband. ‘But I think ye should come look for yourself.’

  Thomasin affixed her eyes to the loop of black twine on the banister to which her husband was pointing. His finger then moved to indicate the banister at the opposite side of the stair which wore a similar loop. ‘Somebody set a trip-wire,’ he informed her unnecessarily. ‘They’ve removed the main of it but they didn’t have time to untie the whole evidence.’

  ‘But who’d do a thing like that?’ breathed Thomasin disbelievingly. ‘Good God, they could’ve killed the man!’

  ‘I don’t know why, but I think I could hazard a guess as to who,’ said Patrick and jabbed his thumb towards the children’s rooms.

  ‘The children?’ she mouthed inaudibly.

  ‘When I came up to investigate, Rosie’s head was poking out of her door. When she saw me she ducked in very sharp.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘’Tis no use conjecturin’, we’d best just come right out an’ ask them.’ He strode off in the direction of the children’s bedrooms, Thomasin in pursuit.

  ‘It’ll do no good to pretend ye’re asleep,’ Patrick told the two lumps beneath the bedcovers. ‘Come on, out with yese.’

  Slowly the lumps materialised into two tousle-headed girls who bit their lips and stared at him speechlessly.

  ‘Downstairs. I want to speak to ye.’ He watched their ponderous exit, then went to insert his head into Nick’s room. ‘Nicholas, you too. Don’t act as though ye don’t know what I’m talking about, I know ye’ve been listening. Now downstairs all of ye.’

  The assembly in the drawing room showed surprise as the nightgowned children were herded reluctantly in to join them. Francis, having had his head attended to, was now sitting upright, the beginnings of a purple bruise on his right cheekbone.

  ‘I believe these children have something to say to ye,’ prompted Patrick sternly. ‘Come along, who’s going to be your spokesman?’ There was silence.

  ‘Do you mean the children are responsible?’ asked an amazed Sonny.

  ‘I do. They tied a trip-wire across the top o’ the stairs. Francis was fortunate to escape with bruises, I can tell ye. He could’ve broken his neck.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t know…’ began Francis, but was curtailed by Sonny’s bark.

  ‘Nicholas! Rosanna! Explain yourselves at once.’

  ‘We were only trying to help,’ proffered Rosanna, waiting for Belle to own up as the instigator but knowing that was too optimistic.

  ‘Help?’ blurted her father. ‘For heaven’s sake, you almost killed the gentleman!’

  ‘We didn’t mean to,’ said Nick. ‘We only wanted to get rid of him so he wouldn’t come again.’ There were gasps.

  Nick looked at each uncomprehending face, then at Patrick. ‘We were doing it for you, Gramps.’

  The elderly man stared at his grandson. ‘For me? But why?’

  ‘We knew you were afraid that Mr Far… Mr Farthingale was going to take Nan away. We were only trying to put him off coming again. That’s why we put the mixture on the dinner.’

  His grandmother clapped a hand to her brow. ‘And I went and blamed Cook. I might’ve known.’

  ‘It was only because we didn’t want you to run away, Nan,’ said Rosie, looking through a veil of dark lashes.

  Thomasin spread her hands. ‘Francis, what can I say? How very embarrassing this must be for you.’

  The man accomplished a shaky laugh. ‘On the contrary I’m rather flattered that anyone could think me capable of abduction.’

  Nick compared the two men openly. ‘Yes, it was rather stupid of us to think Nan would run off with you, wasn’t it?’

  Thomasin gave an explosive breath at this candour but Francis forestalled any further chastisement. ‘I’m certain they were simply being loyal – that’s to be admired.’

  ‘Not if it almost kills my guests,’ she replied firmly. ‘Sonny, Erin, I trust you’ll deal with your children accordingly?’

  Her son and daughter said they would. Josie began to rise but Erin told her to sit where she was. ‘Save your strength. I may as well deal with both girls. I suppose it’s rather irrelevant to ask,’ she turned to Belle, ‘but who masterminded this dangerous prank?’

  Belle looked at the pattern on the carpet. ‘Don’t think you’re being loyal,’ said her mother. ‘Come on, speak up.’ Belle altered her weight to the other leg, then, after appearing to deliberate for some moments, divulged, ‘Rosie said we should do something to help Grandfather. I don’t suppose she thought it would end like this.’ Rosanna opened her mouth in indignation but Erin was already bundling the children from the room. ‘You’re a very wicked girl, Rosanna Feeney, and it was especially bad of you to lure Belle into your dangerous antics.’ Sonny objected, a hand on each of his children’s heads as they climbed the stairs. ‘I’m not condoning their behaviour, but don’t you think it’s a wee bit unjust to lump all the blame on Rosie?’

  ‘Ye heard what Belle said! It was Rosanna’s idea – as usual. Belle would hardly be able to accomplish such a feat on her own. Besides which the idea would never have entered her head. Ye know how Rosie’s always at the centre of any mischief, Sonny. It really is time you took her in hand. I’m terrified that one day she’ll lead Belle into something really dangerous.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to see to the girls’ punishment,’ sighed her brother as they parted company outside the adja
cent bedrooms. ‘I’ll tend to this rascal.’

  Nick spun round immediately the door was closed. ‘Father, you mustn’t let Aunt Erin beat Rosie, it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘Whose was it, then – yours?’ Nick looked down at his bare toes, undulating them. ‘Come on, Nick, tell the truth.’

  ‘Dad, I’m not trying to wriggle out of it. I mean I don’t mind taking my medicine, but you mustn’t allow Aunt Erin to think that it was all Rosie’s fault. It was Belle’s idea…’

  ‘Now, Nick.’ Sonny looked extremely stern.

  ‘It’s the truth, honestly! I’m not trying to pin it all on Belle so that she gets all the punishment. I’ve told you I don’t mind taking what’s coming like a man, but you must believe that it was truly Belle’s idea. It always is, but Rosie is the one who gets the blame. It’s because she giggles. I know you’ve taught us not to tell tales but you should know what Belle’s really like. Everybody thinks she’s nice but sometimes she can be really obnoxious.’

  Sonny halted the flow of defence. ‘How often has this happened – Rosie getting the blame for something her cousin’s done?’

  ‘Hundreds of times. Rosie’s never complained because she felt sorry for Belle being made to take all those extra lessons and for the way her mother won’t allow her to play like us. But I don’t think it’s right that she should get Belle’s share of the punishment.’

  ‘No, indeed it’s not,’ agreed his father gravely. ‘Hold there a moment.’ He left the room and went to intercept his sister before the injustice was meted out. After knocking he opened the door and looked around it. ‘Ah, there’s no blood – I must be in time.’ Erin regarded him impatiently, a hairbrush in her hand. ‘I think maybe it’d be better if you left Rosanna’s punishment to her mother, Erin – right? I’ll see you downstairs.’ With no further offering he returned to his son’s room to lift the child into bed, tucking him in and sitting at his bedside. ‘I’ll explain to your Aunt Erin.’ A sigh broke in. ‘Not that I think she’ll believe us. Y’see, Nick, she feels very protective of Belle. The child is all she has and she doesn’t want to see her hurt. She sincerely believes that Belle can do no wrong, that she’s always bound, by her situation, to be the victim. Even though we know that’s untrue we have to be charitable. Aunt Erin has suffered a lot.’

  ‘I understand that, Father.’ His son was growing sleepy.

  ‘Good man.’ Sonny smoothed the fair hair. ‘And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll never be punished again for something she didn’t do – but don’t think I regard you as totally innocent in this! You’re quite old enough to know how stupid and dangerous it was, and if there’s any repetition there will be serious trouble.’ After a kiss he left. Meeting Erin on the stairs he told her what Nick had said.

  ‘Well, that was predictable, wasn’t it?’ Erin lifted her skirts as she trod the stairs. ‘As you’re bound to take Rosanna’s side. You’re too protective of her, Sonny. I understand why, of course, it’s because of her hard beginnings, but ye really must see what a little minx she is.’

  Sonny was amused despite his concern; she had taken the words out of his mouth. No matter, Erin would be made to realise some day just what she was bent on protecting. ‘I respect your opinion, Erin.’ They had reached the door of the drawing room. ‘But if ever you feel that Rosie is in need of chatisement in future I’d be obliged if you’d send her to Josie.’ He opened the door for her.

  ‘Tsk! Josie’s softer than you are with them.’ She saw his face and made a gesture of compliance. ‘All right – but I warn you, Sonny, if ye don’t handle her more firmly you’re going to have trouble on your hands.’

  As they arrived Patrick was scratching his head. ‘Well… I suppose ’tis all out in the open now. I’ll not deny there was more than a grain o’ truth to their supposition. I did have doubts about ye, Francis.’

  The guest nodded understandingly. ‘Naturally, with such an attractive wife I too should be cautious of those I invited into my home. I hope, though, that I’ve allayed your suspicions to some extent. Thomasin is a dear friend I must admit, but I would never stoop so low…’

  ‘I believe that,’ interrupted Patrick. ‘Otherwise I’d never’ve invited ye in the first place. Besides, a dear friend o’ mine endorsed your credentials.’ Francis creased his brow and Patrick explained, ‘Father Liam Kelly. I believe ye met about two years ago.’ Francis had little need to search his memory even though the meeting had been brief; Father Kelly had made a strong impression, as he told Patrick now.

  ‘Aye, he was left with a similar impression of your good self,’ replied Patrick. ‘’Tis thanks to him you’re here.’

  ‘Then you must relay my gratitude,’ smiled Francis. Patrick looked at his wife, then back at the guest. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Francis. Liam died on the same day as Tommy’s mother. He was my oldest and dearest friend. I don’t have to tell you how much I miss him.’

  Francis offered condolences for the second time that evening. ‘I know it sounds silly to say this of a priest… but he struck me as a very Christian man.’

  ‘Not silly at all,’ answered Patrick with Father Gilchrist in mind. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Often I’d feel put to shame by his goodness. As a matter of fact we were discussing the other day…’ The other day – how long ago it seemed. ‘Well, I think he believed I should be makin’ more use of my fortunate position by helping my less-fortunate brothers.’

  Thomasin reminded him of all the men he employed, men who might otherwise be hard-pressed to find work. ‘That’s hardly something to be ashamed of.’

  ‘But ’tis such a paltry concession,’ said Patrick. ‘Think of the hovels we used to live in ourselves, then think of those still confined to them. There must be something we could do.’

  ‘It must be the weather,’ donated Sonny who had been listening with quiet interest. ‘I’ve been experiencing the same feelings lately. Here I am with a thriving career, a well-fed family, a lovely home… what right have I to all this? There’s some who’d consider just a hundredth of what I have as wealth. It’s so unjust.’

  ‘But we didn’t just draw our fortune from a lucky dip,’ protested Thomasin. ‘We’ve all worked damned hard to get where we are.’

  ‘I’d be the first to agree with that, Mother, but don’t you think that point of view a wee bit selfish? I’ve made my money, now bugger the others – sorry, Francis,’ he apologised for his language.

  Francis waved this aside. ‘But you can’t accuse your mother of selfishness, John. To use her own illustration, look at the number of people to whom she gives employment – and at far above the going rate for wages.’

  ‘Again, I agree with that, Francis,’ replied Sonny. ‘It’s not really Mother I’m speaking of but myself. You see, all I ever wanted to do was paint – I admit it’s an addiction with me. The money I received for my pleasure hardly registered. I’d just take the cheques and shove them in my bank account. I didn’t even realise the amount I’d accrued until a few months ago. It was rather daunting to find myself so rich… that’s what’s so disgusting, really – not knowing, or caring what you are worth, while others are starving. It brought me to some serious thinking…’ Here he glanced at his mother.

  ‘I hope you’re not intending to arm yourself with bags of sovs and visit the ghettoes,’ said Thomasin.

  ‘Credit me with a little savvy, Mother.’ Sonny divulged his intention to buy a mill where he would design and produce his own fabric. ‘I’d still be doing something I liked while helping those less well-off – and of course I could still undertake the odd commission when it suited.’

  Thomasin was enthusiastic. ‘We could have the fabric made up into clothes to sell at the store.’

  ‘Actually, what I had in mind was household textiles, and maybe later I might apply my designs to wallpaper. I do so hate all this heavy stuff that’s around at the moment.’ He embraced his father in his smile. ‘And that would mean you could have a whole new department
, Mam. What d’you think to that?’

  Thomasin said she thought it was splendid. ‘And so do I,’ endorsed Patrick. ‘Where and when d’ye intend to begin?’

  ‘There’s a mill near Leeds up for auction in a couple of…’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t waste much time, does he?’ remarked Patrick to the others.

  Sonny met his smile. ‘It’s not as impulsive as it sounds. Josie and I have talked about this a lot but we wanted to discuss it with you before we decided.’

  ‘Discuss nothing,’ scoffed his mother to laughter. ‘You had it all worked out.’ She asked him what he knew about the textile industry, his choice having surprised her.

  ‘Nothing much.’ he confessed. ‘But this fellow I know – who was actually the one to put the idea into my head, he’s going to be in charge of the weaving side. I’ll be concentrating solely on the designs – when I’ve finished at Nottingham, of course.’

  ‘Will this chap be contributing any finance?’ enquired his cautious mother.

  ‘No, he’ll be working as an employee. Don’t worry, Mam, I am grown up now you know, I won’t let anyone fleece me.’

  ‘I’m not bothered about anyone fleecing you, I was just wondering whether or not I might be allowed to buy shares!’

  After the flippancy came a moment of seriousness. ‘It isn’t so much the mill we wanted to discuss with you… it’s the children.’ Sonny looked at his wife whose face had grown clouded. ‘You see, with the mill being at Leeds we’re going to have to move there.’

  ‘An’ ye’ll be taking Rosie an’ Nick.’ Patrick’s face was downcast. ‘It never occurred to me that they’d ever leave… still, I suppose when they grow up they’ll go anyway.’

  ‘We don’t know if we will be taking them,’ replied his son awkwardly, adding quickly, ‘Naturally we want them with us… but we don’t want to tear them away from their home and you and Mam. We’ve been in a right pickle about it… but we think we may’ve reached a compromise. Rosie and Nick could live here through the week, take their lessons as normal, have their friends to play with, and then at the weekend they can come to us – or we’ll come here, one or the other. When you think about it, a lot of children their age would be away at boarding school, anyway.’