Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘Aren’t you overlooking something?’ asked his mother, making him cock his head. ‘What makes you think I want two budding executioners living with me?’ She grinned at Francis who rubbed his bruises woefully.

  Sonny laughed. ‘Of course I could always ship them off to a penal colony,’ and took hold of the hand that his mother reached out to him.

  ‘You know we’d love to have them stay – if you’re sure you won’t miss them too much?’ Thomasin had turned to Josie when saying this and took her hand from Sonny’s to grip her daughter-in-law’s fingers.

  ‘We’ll miss them dreadfully,’ confessed Josie. ‘But I think John’s scheme is a fair one for all concerned. We haven’t put it to them vet,’ she added hastily.

  ‘I won’t say anything,’ promised Thomasin.

  Josie gave a little laugh. ‘They might even want to come with us.’ But it was said without conviction.

  Sonny tried to shrug off his real feelings, joking, ‘Anyway, Nick tells me he’s going to work for you when he’s older, Mother.’

  ‘Is he indeed?’ said Thomasin. ‘I’m glad everyone is so certain of their plans, aren’t you, Pat? I think you and I might just as well enlist for the workhouse, considering that none of them seems to think it necessary to consult us any more.’

  Patrick, with one eye on his guest, replied, ‘I can see Francis thinks he’s got himself a good deal. Since he made his proposition the store’s acquired itself an extra department, another contributor and a new manager.’

  ‘Yes, I can see it all now,’ said Thomasin grandly. ‘Another decade and our store will take up the length of Parliament Street – Penny and Co.’

  Francis caught the brief flash in Patrick’s eye and felt for him. ‘Are you to keep the old name on, Thomasin? Why not your own name now? Take credit for your endeavours.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ dismissed Thomasin. ‘Haven’t you noticed the allusion? Feeney and Co. Fenian Co. That would certainly bring us lots of custom, I don’t think. Anyway, people know it as Penny’s now. Even if I did put my own name up they’d still call it Penny’s. No, we’ll keep it as it is – maybe even make it a limited company in a few years. Who knows?’ She intercepted the look of sympathy that travelled from Francis to her husband. ‘Oh, I see! You’re worried about Pat’s opinion. Eh,’ she touched him affectionately, ‘you’re a soft-hearted soul. Pat, tell him he’s no need for concern. You’re not bothered one way or the other, are you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ answered Patrick. ‘Ye can call the place what the devil ye like.’

  His voice was light but Francis interpreted the lie. The man was deeply hurt that his wife denied his name. He tried to inject a little genuine lightness. ‘Might it be presumptuous of me to propose a toast to the new partnership?’

  Thomasin rapidly twinned the motion and soon everyone was holding a glass of either sherry or whiskey.

  ‘May I?’ Francis rose. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me such great pleasure to be counted as part of this family business. I shall do my utmost to fulfil your expectations of me. To Penny and Co., prosperity, longevity, harmony.’

  The others echoed and raised their drinks to smiling faces. Patrick applied his lips to the rim of his glass. To Mrs Penny and Mr Farthingale, he thought emptily – but what of Mr Feeney?

  Part Three

  1883-1889

  Chapter Seventeen

  Patrick frequently relived his last conversation with his old friend Liam. Even two years after the priest’s death his own words returned to mock him – what had he done to credit them with sincerity? Nothing. It was all too easy stating that he wanted to help those less fortunate, a different matter actually to do it. Sonny had made the effort. He and Josie had secured the mill at Leeds and a house to go with it and now employed dozens of people. As Sonny had predicted, the children were happy to stay with their grandparents. Patrick knew what a wrench it had been for his son and Josie, but he couldn’t say that he was unhappy with their decision; his grandchildren’s presence was about the only thing that cheered him these days. When they went off at the weekend or, even worse, for a holiday with their parents he felt bored and useless. Thomasin’s continued involvement with the YAS left him in need of some pastime to fill his lonely evenings.

  In fact, it took the chill of autumn and the current political by-election to provide one – and indirectly, a means to help the people in the slums. Patrick had never really been interested in politics before, but he was concerned over anything to do with his homeland. The current bickering for Home Rule was the item that acted as tinder to his stale imagination. Having tasted repression at first hand he had for years been appalled at the injustices to the Irish meted out by press and politician. Hitherto, as he had told Liam, he had done little more than complain within his family circle, but now he felt the need for more positive action. Without a mention to his family he went tentatively along to a meeting chaired by the Liberal candidate, Frank Lockwood. By the time the meeting broke up Patrick felt as if someone had stuck a spoon in his vitals and given them a good stir, so uplifted did he feel. And for those few weeks leading up to the November byelection his involvement marked a period of renewed self-esteem.

  ‘Gramps seems very cheerful these days, doesn’t he?’ remarked Nick. Now eleven, he was almost as tall as his grandmother and a constant headache to those who had to clothe him. ‘I bring him new trousers,’ Thomasin would say, ‘I blink my eyes and they’re at half-mast. I think somebody’s putting fertiliser in his boots.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Rosanna, lying on her stomach. She was engrossed in her drawing. Lost in concentration, one foot rose to meet her back, then was lowered to the carpet; up, down, up, down, displaying petticoats and drawers.

  ‘I wonder if he’ll buy me that train I’ve been wanting.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Rosanna’s tongue curled onto her cheek as she pencilled in her grandfather’s eyes. Gramps was going to like this. It was the best picture she had ever done.

  ‘You’re not listening, are you?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Oink, oink, pig-face, stinky old baggy drawers,’ chanted Nick.

  ‘Camel-face,’ retorted his sister. ‘Anyway, I was listening.’

  ‘What did I say, then?’

  ‘What you usually say whenever you speak about Gramps – you want him to buy you something. You don’t want him for himself, you want him for his money.’

  ‘That’s stupid – anyway, Gramps doesn’t mind. He’s got plenty of cash.’ Nick watched his sister impatiently. ‘Are you going to lie there all day drawing?’

  ‘What else is there to do? It’s raining.’

  Nick mused, ‘We could go ask Abi to call for Cecilia and ask if she wants to come and play.’ Lessons were over for today – except for Belle. This was agreed upon and Cecilia – who lived in the house next door and was a regular playmate – was brought in, all of them enjoying a boisterous game until an irate tutor poked his head from the schoolroom. ‘Some people have to work, you know!’ and slammed the door.

  ‘Poor Belle,’ panted Rosie after she had finished giggling. ‘It’s not fair, is it?’ The episode with Farthingale was long-forgotten. ‘There must be some way we can rescue her.’ Hence, a new game commenced. Making as much din as she could – which was considerable – Rosie poised outside the schoolroom door waiting for the tutor to come out, which was not long. Off she fled in the hope that he would pursue. He did, granting Nick and Cecilia the chance to rush in and abduct a not-unwilling victim.

  Rosanna, having outpaced the tutor and rejoined them, decided that they had all better hide or Belle’s freedom would be short-lived. Grabbing her picture, she fled. Down in the potting shed with hair lank from the rain, Cecilia made an announcement. ‘I’m having a birthday party.’ She sat on a dusty workbench, swinging her legs, an expression of importance on her heart-shaped face.

  ‘Who’re you inviting?’ asked Rosanna nonchalantly.

  ‘Mm.’ Cecilia dimpled her chin with a fing
er and rolled her eyes upwards. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’ Then she grinned. ‘Who d’you think, silly?’

  ‘All of us?’ said Rosanna delightedly. ‘Belle too?’

  ‘Why of course Belle.’ Cecilia linked arms with the girl sitting next to her. ‘She’s my best friend, aren’t you?’

  A little of Rosanna’s pleasure evaporated. ‘I thought I was your best friend, Cec.’

  ‘Well… you are, you both are. I can have more than one best friend, can’t I?’

  Best friend, thought Belle dazedly, feeling the warmth of Cecilia’s arm; something she had always wanted. All the other children who came to play at the house gravitated towards Rosie, her being so gushy and pushy – but now she had a best friend. She snuggled up to Cecilia, feeling all fizzy inside.

  Rosanna unbuttoned her bodice and slipped her hand inside, withdrawing the portrait. She had placed it there to prevent it getting soggy. Now, she sat and stared at it, waiting for someone to ask what it was. Recognising the pose, Belle said nothing – she could tell that Rosie was jealous and was revelling in the idea – but Cecilia complied innocently. ‘Oh, may I see? Who’s it a portrait of?’

  ‘Gramps,’ supplied Rosanna, at which Belle burst into rude laughter.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to show it to him!’

  When Rosie asked why not Belle pointed to Patrick’s eyes and guffawed. ‘Oh look, Cec, he’s cross-eyed!’

  ‘He is not!’ Rosanna snatched the portrait back. Despite the fact that she personally thought the picture was very good, Cecilia was infected by Belle’s laughter and pretty soon there were tears streaming down her cheeks as she bumped heads with Belle. They continued giggling as Rosie stormed out of the shed followed by Nick – which is what Belle had hoped for. Now she had Cecilia all to herself. She could still hardly believe that this was happening to her. When the laughter eventually died she asked what Cecilia would like for a present. ‘Choose anything you like. I want it to be the best present you receive. I’m going to be your friend forever.’

  A child’s antagonism being notoriously short-lived, the afternoon found the three together again, purchasing presents in a city toy store. Belle took an age to find the right article. ‘It must be exactly the right thing.’ This turned out to be the most expensive doll in the shop.

  ‘Miss Belle, I can’t let you buy that,’ objected Abi as the shopkeeper took it from the shelf. ‘Wouldn’t you sooner have something like Miss Rosie’s chosen?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be right for Cecilia.’ Belle was scornful. ‘You can’t be stingy when you’re buying for a best friend, Abigail.’

  Rosie put the toy monkey back on the counter. ‘I hadn’t decided yet.’

  In grand manner Belle instructed the man to wrap up the doll. Defeated, Abigail sighed and turned away. ‘Right, Master Nick, is that what you’ve chosen – come on, Miss Rosie, we haven’t got all day!’ Rosanna reluctantly handed over the toy monkey, pursing her lips at Belle’s snigger.

  The invitation came on Tuesday. Abi was the one who, with leaden heart, handed it to one of the recipients.

  ‘To Master N. and Miss R. Feeney,’ read Rosanna, then ripped it open. Belle waited.

  ‘Maybe yours’ll come later, dear,’ said Abi at the crestfallen face.

  Rosie’s soft heart came to the fore. ‘Perhaps they ran out of invitations and’re having some more printed,’ she suggested, then bit her lip at Belle’s icy stare.

  Belle, still hopeful, waited all afternoon for the special sound that the letterbox made, but never once did it speak. Towards evening her optimism was forced to capitulate; there would be no invitation now. Down in the kitchen Abigail pounded crossly at the dishwater, splashing her apron front. ‘No bloody invite yet, I see.’

  ‘Happen it’s as well she didn’t want to go, then,’ replied Mrs Howgego.

  The maid turned on her. ‘Course she wanted to go!’

  ‘Abigail, didn’t I hear her myself not five minutes ago saying she wasn’t bothered, she was only going to suit Miss Cecilia anyway.’

  ‘I was there when that invitation came, I saw her face! She was heartbroken – heartbroken! I’d bloody lock ’em up, I would. When I think of all the trouble she took choosin’ that present… “it’s for my best friend”, she tells the bloke, “wrap it up very carefully”. Ooh!’

  ‘Aye well, I don’t reckon it would be Miss Cecilia’s fault,’ sighed Cook. ‘She seems a nice enough young lady. But from what Cook-Next-Door tells me, Miss Cecilia’s parents aren’t too keen on the friendship.’

  ‘Happen they think it’s catchin’,’ snapped Abigail. ‘Who do folk think they are? Eh, I don’t know, Cook.’ She wiped her hands on a towel. ‘That poor little soul… if this is what she’s got to put up with for the rest of her life then it won’t be worth much, will it? S’pect we’ll be in for a right spell o’ naughtiness after this an’ all.’

  ‘Doesn’t take a disappointment to give her an excuse for naughtiness,’ sniffed Cook. ‘Tricky little demon.’

  ‘I’ll agree she can be a monkey – well, I should know after all the tricks she’s played on me – but real naughtiness is what I’m on about… it always seems to come after she’s had one o’ these upsets, as though she has to take it out on somebody.’

  ‘That’s all well and good if she takes it out on them as is responsible, Abigail. But I hope she doesn’t think I’m putting up with a load of argey-bargey just ’cause she couldn’t go to a party, ’cause I’m not!’

  ‘Ooh, you are hard, Mrs Howgego.’

  ‘Aye, well I’m not one o’ them as feels sorry for her just ’cause she’s not normal, like some I could mention.’ She was still smarting over the way Belle had raided her larder two weeks ago and made off with the piece of pie Cook was saving for her own lunch. Abi saw no virtue in prolonging the topic, for Cook had always had a down on the child. She continued with the washing up, while upstairs the question of Belle was carried forth into the next twenty-four hours by the child’s grandparents.

  ‘Are we to let them go, then?’ demanded Thomasin impatiently.

  ‘It’d be a shame to spoil their fun just ’cause we’re mad with our neighbours,’ answered her husband.

  ‘But it’s the principle of the thing! They’ve deliberately snubbed her, Patrick, because she’s… the way she is. Erin’s furious! If we permit Nick and Rosie to go then it looks as though we’re letting them get away with it.’

  ‘If it’s revenge you’re after surely it can wait till after the party? I understand your argument – I side with it meself – but they’re only children.’

  ‘Nonsense, they’re eleven and twelve years old,’ persisted Thomasin. ‘They have to learn about principles some time.’

  ‘Does it have to be this way? For God’s sake let them go, then tomorrow when Mrs Ridley comes to call ye can send Abi out with your not-at-home card, or Erin with a mallet, or whatever.’

  ‘And are we to let Belle sit in her room all alone thinking of the fun her cousins are having?’

  ‘I’ll see to Belle, just you see to your own affairs. Ring for Abi. When the others have gone to this blessed party we’ll have Belle down.’

  After giving Abigail instructions Thomasin enquired what result Patrick foresaw of tomorrow’s by-election. ‘Do you think your fellow will get in?’

  ‘If enthusiasm’s what’s needed to get that seat then he will,’ stated her husband.

  ‘And all these votes you’ve been promised, will they follow through with the genuine thing?’

  ‘Listen,’ he told her, ‘I’ll see Frank Lockwood elected even if I have to drag those idle so an’ so’s to the polls by their – ah, here’s Belle.’ He gestured to the child who had interrupted his speech. ‘Ah, come on to your old grandad an’ give him a cuddle.’

  Thomasin, with a tight smile for Belle, made for the door. ‘I’ll leave you two to it.’

  ‘Aye, we’ll leave you to it, too,’ said Patrick, making Belle laugh despite her hurt as she ca
me to stand between his legs. ‘Ah, I’m glad ye can still do that, darlin’. ’Tis the most powerful weapon ye have, laughter. A laugh in the face of your enemy can be as effective as a slap.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry ye didn’t get an invitation to the party, love… but maybe Cecilia’s mother felt she could only cope with so many.’ He saw the disbelief in her expression and actually blushed. That child knew well enough why she hadn’t been invited.

  ‘Well, as it happens, Gramps,’ she told him lightly, ‘it’s quite fortunate that I didn’t receive one. I couldn’t’ve gone anyway as I’ve such a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Ah well,’ Patrick nodded, then his eyes fell on the enormous parcel tied with pink ribbons, abandoned by the piano. ‘Ye can keep the doll by the way. I don’t see why Cecilia should have it, d’you?’

  She shook her head and stared down at the large boot that protruded from the hem of her dress. For some time she had been wearing her skirts longer, her mother deeming it a kindness. Hidden or not, the boot was still there.

  ‘Well,’ he finished awkwardly, ‘I’d love to spend some time with ye but I have to go out. ’Tis the by-election tomorrow an’ Mr Lockwood’s making his final speech. I have to go, Belle.’ She nodded, not raising her eyes. ‘Aw, Jaze.’ He sat her on his lap. ‘Ye’re making me feel terrible.’

  She brightened. ‘It’s not your fault that Cecilia’s so stupid, Gramps.’

  ‘I know, I know… but someone should be here to cheer ye up. Listen,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘’tis scant consolation, I know, but ye wouldn’t like to come with me, would ye? It’ll be awful noisy an’ perhaps there’ll be a bit o’ bad language but no more than ye’d hear when your Gramps has had too much whiskey, an’ at least ’twould get ye out o’ the house. I hate to think of ye listening to the sound of the party next door.’