‘I’m not really sure what you mean.’
‘Read the papers, they’ll tell you.’
‘I’m not really interested in newspapers.’
‘It’s our duty to know what’s going on, girl.’
She frowned, poked a finger in his chest. ‘But, Tim, I thought you couldn’t read?’
He looked like someone caught in a lie. ‘Nor can I… but Mr Dorgan, he reads them out to me – even though they do give a distorted view. He’s taught me such a lot, Rosie. More than anything he’s shown me the need for us patriots to get together and do what the politicians have failed to do.’
She thought she knew all there was to know about Ireland but he talked to her of things she had never heard from her grandfather’s lips. Such tales of abuse and persecution. ‘Did you never hear of the Great Hunger?’ This time she could respond with confidence. ‘Gramps told us all about it when we were very tiny. I’ve never forgotten. It was so terrible.’
‘I’ll bet he never told you it was a devilish plot by the English to kill us all off, did he?’ He nodded tersely when she offered no reply. ‘I can see he never.’
‘But surely all the English aren’t like that, Tim,’ argued Rosie. ‘My grandmother is English. She’d hardly marry an Irishman if she felt that way, would she?’
‘Ah, well now, there’s times when passion by force overrules our principles,’ said Tim, kissing her. ‘Your grandfather probably felt the same way for her as I do for you.’
She smiled mischievously. ‘I’ll bet there’s a little bit of English in you somewhere, too. You’ve hardly any accent.’
‘Don’t you say that.’ His anger was quiet but very plain. ‘Both my folk were Irish, my grandparents, my great-grandparents…’
‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’ She was rather upset herself. ‘One would think having English blood in one’s veins was like some incurable disease.’
‘Ah, now I’m the one doing the upsetting.’ His face was kind again. ‘I’d no meaning to. I think we’d best forget about Irish an’ English and just concentrate on us.’
‘No, it’s good I know how you feel about things, about yourself, about me, even if you do get angry about it. I know if I was in your position I’d feel a sense of injustice, I’m sure.’ The sigh she gave was so intense it lifted his body. ‘Oh, I wish we were married, don’t you?’
‘Your parents would never consent.’
‘Is that just your way of trying to wriggle out of it?’ She smiled to show she was joking. ‘When I’m twenty-one I won’t need their consent.’
‘That’s a lot o’ water to flow. You’ll likely be bored with me when you reach that ripe old age.’
‘Never! Don’t you ever say things like that. What if we were to run away together right now?’
‘Where to, might I ask?’
‘Ireland!’ came the cry. ‘We’ll go to Ireland. I could sneak back to the house, collect my savings… oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful?’
He rolled from side to side, holding her lovingly. ‘That it would. But much as I adore you – an’ I truly do, Rosie – I’ve other commitments. I can’t go swanning off to Ireland and neither could you leave your grandfather, could ye? Truthfully.’
A rueful smile. ‘No, I couldn’t do that to Gramps – but it’s nice to dream, isn’t it? Oh, Tim, will we ever be together?’
‘One day, if ye keep loving me.’
‘And will we go to live in Ireland?’
‘We will. But first we have to free her. I’ll not live in a country in chains.’
‘Could I help?’ came the small plea.
‘You? No, darlin’. It’s tough strong men we need. Besides, I wouldn’t put my Rosie in any danger.’
‘Tim, how dangerous is it? You won’t let yourself be hurt, will you?’
‘Worry not, Timothy Rabb can take care of himself.’
‘Tell me some more about Ireland, Tim.’ She snuggled up to him. There was an icy draught swilling round her buttocks but she was loath to uncouple herself. ‘Is it as beautiful as my grandfather says?’
‘Ah, Rosie, there’s no place on earth like it,’ confirmed Tim with a dreamy glaze to his eyes. ‘The grass is a dozen times greener than any to be seen over here. An’ there’s mountains an’ lakes an’ carpets of wild flowers, an’ few big cities, just tiny villages dotted amongst the heather.’ He lyricised so vividly that she saw it all in her mind. Saw herself and Timothy in their little white cottage with a dozen babies all like him.
His body began to respond to his impassioned speech. She felt him grow inside her. It felt so strange. ‘You love the place so much, don’t you?’ she said as he began to mouth her lips.
He stopped kissing her and a look of detachment clouded his eye. ‘That I do. You asked me before if there was chance o’ me being hurt. Well, that I can’t say but I can tell ye this: if I thought it would free Ireland I’d gladly die for her.’
‘Oh, Tim, please don’t talk that way. Nothing is so important that you should have to die for it, and it makes me jealous to think that it’s not me who inspires such sacrifice.’
‘I feel the same way about you, Rosanna.’
‘You’d die for me?’
‘Ah-ha. In fact I’m dying for you right now.’
‘Timothy Rabb, you old lecher!’ She slapped him, then they rolled together on the crumpled coat, ignoring the hard grains of soil that clung to their skins, trying to make time eke out.
Typically the afternoon was over in a flash. Rosanna was forced to dress hurriedly, Tim in more leisurely fashion, grinning at her unladylike postures. ‘They’re going to wonder what you’ve been up to with your hair like that.’
‘No, they won’t. I always look this way when I come back from my outings.’
‘Ah, an’ have you always been up to the same thing as this afternoon?’ he enquired roguishly.
‘You devil!’ She swiped at him. ‘That’s more your prerogative. I’ll bet all the girls are after you.’
‘I have to fight them off.’
She was finished dressing and waited for Tim to skip past before struggling with the padlock. It seemed to be thawing. But maybe that was just imagination. ‘Are the girls in Ireland prettier than me?’ The padlock clicked into place. ‘Will I have much competition?’
‘And how would I be knowing that?’ replied Timothy. ‘When I’ve never even been there.’ With this strange remark he delivered a long, hard kiss and led her to the path home.
* * *
‘Rosanna Feeney, what manner of mischief have you been up to?’ asked Patrick as she slipped in by the french window hoping not to be noticed. ‘D’ye realise how long ye’ve been out in that garden? We were thinking to send out a search party.’
‘Sorry, Gramps.’ She kept her face averted.
‘Your Aunt Erin came out looking for ye. Searched high an’ low she did.’
‘I was sitting in the shed.’
‘Can’t I see that from the state o’ ye? Sure, what would ye be wanting to spend your time in that dusty old place for? ’Tis full o’ nothing but cobwebs.’
‘Sometimes I just like to sit and think,’ she answered, aware of Tim’s scent clinging to her clothes. Could Grandfather smell it too? ‘It was too cold in the garden so I went in there. I lost track of the time.’ She began to edge towards the inner door.
He rose from his comfortable chair, smiling, and came to put an arm around her. ‘Thinking, was it? I shouldn’t do that too often – look what it’s done to your hair.’ He tugged at a loose strand.
A guilty hand went up. ‘The wind did that. Abi would cry havoc if she could see it. It took her ages.’ His arm pulled her closer. Surely he can tell, she thought.
If Patrick noticed the tenseness of her shoulder when he hugged her he merely put it down to her not being a little girl any more. It was hard to keep remembering that. When he released her she hurried to her room – what joy that Belle was away at school – threw down her hat and went to lo
ok in the mirror, touching her face and body as she searched for signs of change. She was posed thus when the door opened and her brother came in.
‘Can no one in this house learn to knock?’ she threw at him, whirling from the mirror. ‘I could’ve been naked for all you knew.’
‘I daresay if I’d encountered you an hour ago I would have witnessed that delightful state,’ answered Nick, shutting the door and going to sit on her bed.
‘And what construction am I to put on that cryptic little passage?’
He grabbed her wrist as she sailed past him and hauled her to stand between his open legs. ‘Rosie, you know that nothing escapes the All-Seeing-One.’
‘So you guessed.’ Her lips were drawn together. ‘And what do you intend to do – tell Grandfather?’
‘Now why on earth would I want to tell the old man?’ He shook her hands reassuringly. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
She blushed, ‘Nicholas, what a thing to ask,’ and made an attempt to remove herself from his grasp.
He clung on. ‘Did you?’
‘What business is it of yours?’ She gave in and wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really,’ a little laugh. ‘But Tim says it’ll be better next time.’
‘Oh, Tim says, does he? I wonder if our Tim is as knowledgeable as he makes out.’ She asked what he meant. ‘Does he care enough about you to see you don’t get pregnant?’
‘Naturally he cares. As I care for him. We’re going to be married when I’m of age.’
‘Assuming that to be so, what happens in the meantime?’
A helpless shrug. ‘There’s nothing we can do to stop it happening, is there? Just keep our fingers crossed.’
‘Better you applied that posture to your legs. Oh, Rosie-Posie you’re so unworldly. Of course there’s ways to stop it.’
‘How come you know so much about it?’ she demanded petulantly.
‘I make it my business to know all the ins and outs of everything I enter into.’ The metaphor caused a smile.
‘Nick, you’re in love too.’ She had misread his expression.
‘In love? Most definitely not.’
‘Then…’
‘I have someone I go to, yes, but I’m not in love with her, nor she with me. It’s just a partnership of convenience.’
‘That’s terrible!’
‘Is it more terrible than you pretending to Grandfather you’re off for a walk in the garden and then sneaking off to copulate with one of his labourers?’
He was spoiling everything. ‘You make it sound so sordid and it’s not like that at all. I love Tim. I need him, and he loves me.’
‘Of course he does, as I do, Rosie. That’s why I don’t want to see you get hurt. Let me help you. I could fetch you something that might be useful.’
‘Useful for what?’
‘To prevent you having a baby,’ he sighed.
‘I didn’t know there were such things.’ Where was the woman who had walked in here five minutes ago? Her brother seemed so much older; made her appear so ignorant and childish.
‘Well, there are – though I can’t vouch for their reliability. But they seem to have worked so far for us. I’ll speak to Moira about it.’
‘Is that your… mistress?’ He nodded, amused at the term employed by his sister. But then he supposed that’s what Moira was. ‘I’d be embarrassed to think you were discussing that sort of thing with her.’
‘Why? I’m discussing it with you, aren’t I?’
‘Well yes, but you and I have always talked about everything.’ She looked at the hands that imprisoned hers; they seemed so large in comparison. She had never fully noticed her brother’s maleness before. ‘Do you and Moira use these things?’
‘Yes, and so will you. Then you can sneak off and have your bit of fun without fear.’
‘Fun?’ Her voice rose.
‘Rosie,’ he spoke gently, kneading her fingers. ‘You must realise that that is all it can ever be. Nan and Grandad will see to that. Father will listen to them and never give his consent for you to marry this fellow. He’s not the right sort.’
She pulled away angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter what sort he is! I love him and whatever any of you say or think I’m going to damn well marry him.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mr Dorgan was a nice old man – well, at fifty-five he appeared old to Rosanna. For months now, they had been meeting under Dorgan’s roof. At first there had been unease between the latter and Rosie: her English accent had made him wary and Rosanna for her part was embarrassed at the old man knowing what she and Tim were doing in the bedroom over his head. But now as the summer came upon them she performed the Sunday ritual without discomfort of any sort – the dash down the garden, the scaling of the wall… Her family, accustomed to her wandering ways, never missed her. It was only when Father and Mother paid their now monthly visits that she was forced to abandon her rendezvous and the week that followed would be torture.
But today was not her parents’ day to visit. She looked both ways before approaching Dorgan’s terraced house. Her vigilance was maintained until, without knocking, she opened the front door and slipped inside.
It was a very humble residence compared with her own. There was a passage from the front door, a front and back parlour and a scullery. Apart from the two bedrooms and a back yard that was the extent of Dorgan’s abode. But all Rosanna cared about was that in one of those bedrooms she and Tim could be together.
‘Hello, Mr Dorgan.’ She unpinned her bonnet as she came in, then paused. ‘Well, don’t look so surprised – it is Sunday, you know.’
‘So it is, colleen, so it is. I clean forgot.’ The keen blue eyes that had raked her as she came upon him so unexpectedly softened and he pointed his pipe at a dingy armchair. ‘Sit ye down. Tim’s been but he just nipped out to do an errand for me. He’ll not be long.’ He fitted the pipe back in his mouth and watched as she seated herself, eyes crinkling in the puckish face; a face that radiated friendliness. She was a fine-looking girl. He often envied his young pal when he and she were up there together and himself down here on his own. He raised a hand to smooth back his thinning hair, once a raging fire now a pale sand. ‘Well now, would ye be making us a cup o’ tea while we wait for old Tim?’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ She swished her lemon skirts to the scullery, knowing where everything was kept. It was a different tale the first time Dorgan had asked this of her. To Rosanna tea came ready prepared in a cup. Faced with a kettle of cold water, a teapot and a caddy she was baffled. The first cup she had made had leaves floating on the surface, but now she had learnt to serve a passable brew.
‘Where’s Tim gone?’ she called amid the clatter of cups.
‘I told ye, he’s gone on an errand for me.’
‘Yes, but where exactly?’
‘Ye ask a powerful lot o’ questions, child.’
She emerged from the scullery with a kettle of water which she placed on the fire. Her face was turned away from him but he knew she was upset by his tone. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought I could go to meet him. We get so little time together.’
The face creased into a smile. ‘Sure, I wasn’t getting at ye. I think I’ve known ye long enough to tell if ye can be trusted. The boy’s gone to collect a delivery from another friend o’ mine. Ah, talk of the devil an’ he’ll appear.’ The front door had opened.
Rosanna’s serious visage turned to happiness as Tim came into the back parlour. She went straight to him and kissed him. ‘Hello, you.’
‘Hello, yourself.’ He returned her kiss heartily, smiled into her eyes, then went across to the table in the centre of the room and placed his burden on it.
‘Did you check if it’s all there?’ asked Dorgan.
‘I did.’ Tim rerolled a shirtsleeve which had fallen down. It was quite warm out there and his brow was glowing.
Rosanna reached up to push his mutinous hair from his eyes, wishing he and Mr Dorgan would get this over with.
While
she wrapped a cloth around the handle of the kettle and lifted it from the fire Dorgan rose and approached the table. Taking hold of the bundle he began to unwrap it carefully. Tim’s swift glance in Rosanna’s direction did not pass unnoticed. ‘You’re not telling me ye don’t trust your young lady, Tim?’ He paused, watched her too.
‘There’s your tea,’ said Rosanna, replacing the lid on the pot, ‘I’ll go fetch some cups in.’ She was about to disappear into the scullery when Dorgan called her back.
‘I think ’tis time our Rosie had a true picture of our aims if she’s to join us, don’t you, Tim?’
She whirled back ecstatically. She had always been shunted from the room whilst Tim and his mentor exchanged their secret words; this was so unexpected. Her face showed it. ‘You’re going to let me join you?’
Dorgan grinned affectionately at her childlike animation. ‘I think you’ve been edged out long enough, don’t you, Tim? An’ her so good at making tea for the boys.’ The young man returned his smile.
‘If you’re simply going to give me a job making tea then…’
‘Tch, tch, so uppity.’ Dorgan looked at Tim. ‘I don’t know whether she’s ready for this now, son. ’Tis someone cool and calm we’ll be wanting, we’ve enough hotheads…’
Rosanna jumped in alarmedly. ‘I didn’t mean…’
Tim came forward to embrace her. ‘The old fella’s having you on, aren’t you, Mr Dorgan?’
‘Am I now?’
‘You are.’ Tim kissed her fondly. ‘You know Rosanna cares as much for Ireland as we do.’
‘Do you, Rosie?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Dorgan.’ It was said earnestly. Now! she told Belle from afar, now I can do something to please Gramps, something which you won’t be able to spoil. ‘I’ll do anything, anything.’
‘Ah well, I daresay we’ll find something.’ Dorgan’s fingers completed the unwrapping, spreading the oilskin open to expose the contents. ‘But today is just for looking.’ Rosanna’s brow creased. She moved closer to the table and stared at the unfamiliar array. ‘What is it?’
Erin’s Child Page 41