‘Couldn’t be better, ma’am.’
‘That’s the show.’ Thomasin was about to go in when a shabbily-dressed woman blocked her entry. She was bearing the sorriest-looking fowl Thomasin had ever seen and when she had passed Thomasin remarked to the doorman, ‘I hope she didn’t buy that in my store.’
He smiled. ‘I think she just wanted them to cook it for her, ma’am.’
‘And they’ve turned her away?’ Thomasin donned a concerned expression and addressed her manservant. ‘Quickly, John – go ask that elderly lady if she’d mind stepping back to the store.’ She watched as John detained the woman and led her back. ‘Come into the warm, my dear,’ she said kindly to the confused woman. ‘I fear you may have been mistreated.’ The doors were opened to her again and she passed through, coming to rest beside a large poster which read: Provident cheques accepted. She then asked the woman what had happened.
The other looked at her askance. ‘I just came in to ask if they’d cook my Christmas bird ’cause I’ve no oven but they said no.’
‘Were you offered any explanation?’ The woman shook her head. ‘Just told no?’ Another movement of the head. ‘I see. Well now, we shall have to do something about that, won’t we?’ It always delighted Thomasin when she had to fight her way into one of her stores but even this fact and the wooden cash containers that whizzed noisily around the overhead railway couldn’t dispel her outrage. Asking the woman to take one of the chairs provided, she struggled through the crush to the counter and asked which of the assistants had dealt with the old woman.
At first everyone was too busy to notice who the personage was, but then: ‘I did, madam,’ spoke up a pristine-aproned young woman. ‘She didn’t buy the bird here so I told her I was sorry but she’d have to take it somewhere else to get it cooked.’
‘On whose authority?’ Thomasin watched the hands that packed the customer’s basket; at least they were clean.
‘Well, no one’s actually, ma’am.’ The girl blushed at Thomasin’s tone. ‘But we had another one asking last week and Mr Feeney told us we could only give the service to regular customers.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now – and you can pass it on to the others when you get chance – that if anyone makes the request in future you are to fulfil it. Now, would you kindly go over there and offer your apologies to the lady and while you are there you will take her basket and fill it with as many groceries as can be fitted in while I go and speak to Mr Feeney.’
‘Nan! How nice to see you. Father said you were coming over for Christmas.’ Nick offered his own chair which she took. ‘A Merry Christmas to you.’
‘And a not-so-merry Christmas for some,’ she replied cryptically, then explained about the customer.
‘Nan, you’ve seen how busy we are down there,’ he defended. ‘We’ve barely enough room in the oven for regular customers’ birds. We can’t do everyone’s.’
‘If it were Lady Manning’s bird you’d find room, though, wouldn’t you? We’re not just here to cater for the carriage trade, Nicholas. I can see I’m going to have to explain yet another area of commerce. That may look like just a shabby old woman to you, but she’s capable of taking a good part of our business. On her way home she could meet three of her friends and tell them what bad treatment they’ll receive if they visit our store. They will go their separate ways and in turn meet three of their friends and so on and so on, until half of Leeds has come to hear what swines they are down at Penny’s and how their food is rotten and how their staff are vampires – you know how distorted these tales become. However humble her appearance she has the power to destroy us. Always remember that and treat each person who comes through that door in a courteous manner.’ She slapped his knee. ‘Ticking-off over. Now, let’s see those books.’
Nick grinned and placed a ledger in front of her, opening it at the current entry. She studied the figures then looked up at him, a congratulatory smile on her lips. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, Nick. I’d expected some sort of improvement, say, perhaps ten per cent, but a fifteen per cent rise in the takings is excellent. Well done.’
‘So when am I to become a director?’ replied Nick. Penny’s had become a limited company that same year.
She closed the ledger. ‘Double the fifteen per cent a year from today and we’ll see about it.’
‘Are you descended from Ghengis Khan, Grandmother?’
‘Only on the distaff side – you didn’t really expect to be made a director on such modest gains did you, Nick? Ah,’ she interpreted his expression – it was hard not to, ‘I can see you did.’
‘It would’ve made a nice Christmas present, Nan,’ he said reprovingly.
‘I daresay it would – if I was called Mrs Santa Claus. Is that what I promised when I put you in here? No? Then it was rash of you to assume such rapid rewards, wasn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would also be rash of me to ask if you could lend me a tenner?’
‘Now, Nicholas,’ she rose stiffly, ‘you know me too well for that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. I don’t know what you do with all your money. Now I’d better go and collect your grandfather or he’ll be like a block of ice.’
‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Nick reached for a newspaper and passed it to her after folding it into position.
‘Am I mentioned in the Christmas Honours at last?’
‘Bottom left-hand corner,’ he tapped the page.
She scrutinised the advertisement for a moment, then let rip. ‘Damn and blast! The incompetent fools.’ A misprint had occurred. The price of turkey, instead of reading ten to fourteen shillings, was ten for fourteen shillings. She thrust the paper back at him. ‘You’d better get onto them quickly before we get trampled to death in the rush. I believe in charity at Christmas but not to that extent. Tell them they can put it in again – correctly this time – or we don’t pay.’
‘What do we do in the meantime?’
‘Well, how have you been coping?’
‘I’ve nearly sent myself blue in the face trying to explain it’s all an error but I’ve had a few rough spells. I managed to get rid of them – but of course we don’t want them going home and meeting three of their friends…’
‘Puh! They’re just trying it on. Tell ’em if they know anywhere that sells turkeys ten for fourteen bob they’re welcome to take their custom there and get me a crateful while they’re at it.’
‘Did you see my window display when you came in?’
‘I did. Exceptional, Nicholas. You have your father’s artistic flair.’ And then she remembered he was not Sonny’s true issue and that of course brought back memories of the boy’s real father. But then thoughts of Dickie were always strongest at this time of year, the anniversary of his birth. She shook the visions from her mind and prepared to leave. ‘Those labels you designed are quite eye-catching, aren’t they? Well, I’m off. I’ll see you at supper, I suppose?’
‘S’pect so,’ answered Nick dully.
* * *
Patrick had finished his tour of the park some time ago and was seated on a bench, staring out over the sparsely-populated gardens. His thoughts as usual were of his dead grand-daughter, but just lately he had found that added to these memories thoughts of his homeland had begun to creep in. Perhaps it was simply old age, but he found himself dwelling on Ireland more than ever these days.
Two women, travelling in opposite directions, met in front of the bench where he sat.
‘Ee, hello, love, in’t it cold?’
The second moved her shoulders rapidly under her shabby coat. ‘By ’eck, aye. I’s’ll atta put some thicker drawers on, I think.’ They cackled. Patrick might just as well have been invisible. The first enquired after the second’s husband.
‘He’s no better, love. Doctor can’t find owt wrong with him. He’s had tubes stuck up right, left an’ centre. Can’t sleep neither, not just wi’ t’pain, it’s them noisy buggers next door.’
‘Oh, them Jews?’
> ‘Aye.’ The other nodded, her expression tart. ‘Ee an’ the muck. Yer’ve never seen owt like it. She’s never had her nets down since they moved in. Yer could use ’em as funeral drapes.’
‘Aw, an’ it used to be ever such a nice street, din’t it, love?’
‘Aye, it was before that lot moved in. An’ they’re tekkin all t’jobs, yer know. I don’t know where they all come from. They’re everywhere.’ She used her forefinger to pick at a tooth. ‘I’d move but they’ve brought price of our property right down. We’d get bugger-all for it.’
‘Well, who’d want to move next door to them, eh? Summat should be done.’
‘Well, what can yer do? Say owt to ’em an’ yer get a load of foreign abuse. Eh,’ a wistful sigh, ‘I’d give owt to have them Irish folk back. That Mrs Casey what used to live over t’road, she used to be up at six every mornin’ stonin’ her step… an’ such lovely bairns they had.’
‘Oh aye, they’re very clean-livin’ folk are the Irish.’ A distant bell chimed the hour. ‘Eh, I’ll have to be off, love. See you again an’ ’ave a nice Christmas. Tara!’
They parted, leaving Patrick free to release his mirth. He was still chuckling when his wife arrived.
‘By, something’s tickled you.’ She lowered herself onto the bench beside him.
‘Oh, glory be to God.’ He wiped away the moisture that was threatening to freeze into the creases around his eyes. ‘“The clean-livin’ Irish”, she called us. It appears ’tis the turn o’ the poor bloody Jews to carry Society’s can. I wonder who’ll get it next century?’
Poor old bugger, thought Thomasin sadly, he’s failing. ‘Come on, let’s have you home where it’s warm.’
Still laughing, Patrick permitted himself to be led back to the carriage and the pair of them returned to their son’s home to await the night’s celebration.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sonny and Josie went out in the late afternoon to collect some large Christmas presents for the children which had been hidden at a friend’s house. Thomasin and Patrick were entertained by their grand-daughters the eldest of whom, Elizabeth, was now almost sixteen. She was nothing like Rosanna had been, but nevertheless a lovely girl and Patrick enjoyed the sensible conversation she provided whilst she and her sisters dressed the Christmas tree. Shortly though, the girls were ordered upstairs by their governess to tidy the appalling mess they had left in their rooms.
It was too much to expect, of course, that Thomasin could suffer his company on her own. Barely five minutes passed before she left to ‘telephone Francis to see how the Bradford store is doing’. After half an hour she still had not returned. What else was there to do? He went to pour himself a drink.
Finding no decanters on the sideboard he tried the cupboard. It was locked. At first this didn’t register. Then, as he was going back to his chair he suddenly realised – it had been locked for his benefit. His face darkened. My God, they were making him out to be an alcoholic! Well, damn them, he wouldn’t be treated like this. Striding across the room he yanked at a bell-pull.
Shortly the butler answered his summons. ‘May I be of assistance, sir?’
‘Do you happen to know where my wife is?’
‘I believe Mrs Feeney went out some twenty minutes ago, sir.’
‘Right, then would ye be after having the key to this cupboard?’ Patrick banged on the wood.
‘I would, sir. Shall I pour you some refreshment?’
Patrick nodded curtly. ‘Whiskey, if ye please.’ He watched the man unlock the cupboard and pour a small measure into a crystal tumbler. ‘Ye can leave it out,’ he added on seeing the bottle about to be locked away.
‘I regret I have orders not to leave any liquor unsupervised, sir.’
Inside, Patrick seethed, but he forced his voice to be casual. ‘An’ why’s that, I wonder?’
‘The master doesn’t like to leave temptation in the servants’ way, sir.’
‘In his father’s way!’ snarled Patrick and disposed of the mean measure in one gulp. ‘Now just get that bloody bottle out an’ less o’ the flannel.’ But the butler was an inflexible sort of man and would not budge. ‘Sullivan,’ said Patrick evenly, ‘ye didn’t know me in my younger days, did ye?’
‘Unfortunately not, sir.’
‘Unfortunately nothing! If ye had known me ye’d also know I had the reputation of having the biggest fists in York – I could still put them to good use if I felt like it, so would ye like to pass me that bottle or am I going to bunch ye?’
‘Sir, if I disobey a direct order I’ll be sacked…’
‘If ye disobey my orders ye’ll also be sacked – dropped into one, the neck tied up an’ the whole nasty thing dropped into the cut. Look, you know an’ I know that my son would believe Attila the Hun if he said he was a member of the Band of Hope – tell him a fairy picked the lock. Anyway, how will he know it’s missing? I’m certainly not going to get you into trouble.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I really am.’ The man backed to the door. ‘But I’ve never lied to my employer and I don’t intend to start.’
‘Sullivan, come back here!’ Patrick rose but the butler had already left the room. ‘God dammit, I’ll smash the bloody cupboard so I will!’ He was on his way to do just that when the door opened again and thinking it was the butler he spun, primed for the attack. The little girl appraised his fighting stance solemnly. On seeing it was one of his grand-daughters Patrick controlled his temper immediately, smoothing away all signs of irritation with an embracing smile. ‘Ah, back at last! Is your room all neat an’ tidy now?’ She said it was. ‘Then come sit on my knee, sugar, an’ I’ll tell ye a story.’ He placed his hands on his knees, bending to welcome her.
She ventured towards him. ‘Do you know anything about mice, Grandfather?’
‘A story about a mouse, eh?’
‘No, about catching them.’
‘Sure now, didn’t I take my City and Guilds in the very subject. Come plant yourself here, my little Annie.’
‘Amelia,’ corrected the girl. Grandfather was always getting names wrong. She let him take her on his knee. ‘I’ve lost my mouse.’
‘Oh, we’ll have it found in no time at all – where did ye last see it?’
‘Oh, I know where it is. It’s in the nursery, but it’s gone behind a cupboard and won’t come out because Miss Robinson is making such a din.’
‘Cupboard is it? Sure, aren’t cupboards being the very devil of it today? Ah, God love ye!’ Patrick squeezed the little girl. ‘Come on, let’s go see what we can do.’
In the nursery he asked, ‘Right then, where’d this varmint go?’
Amelia pointed, and Patrick applied his shoulder to the huge cupboard that travelled almost to the ceiling and was crammed with books. He started to heave.
‘Don’t hurt it, will you?’ begged Amelia.
‘Didn’t I tell ye I’m an expert? Be ready to catch it when it runs out – oh God, look out!’ The cupboard had started to rock. He tried to hold it but ended up having to leap forward and snatch his grand-daughter out of its way as it crashed to the floor, spilling books as it went. ‘Jaze, that was close!’ He mopped his brow, then looked up as the governess came running. ‘I’m sorry to frighten ye, Miss…’ he couldn’t think of her name. ‘’Twas just this silly old eejit thinking he can move mountains.’
‘I’ll fetch Sullivan,’ said the governess primly and within minutes the cupboard was being hauled back into place by the butler and another man.
Amelia bent down to pick something up. She clutched it to her bosom, stroking the tiny head.
‘Ah God, that’s a grand-lookin’ creature,’ observed Patrick, coming nearer. ‘Is it a man or a woman?’
‘It’s not anything now.’ She held out her palm, the blue eyes accusing. ‘You killed it.’
‘Ah, Amelia, I never woulda… ’twas an accident!’
‘You’re horrid.’ Her glaring eyes compelled him to leave the nursery. Before the door
slammed after him, however, he heard the child tell her governess, ‘I hate that man.’
* * *
Nick’s brain reflected the activity that was humming on the floor below his office. He must have that money for tonight, he must. He would impress nobody with the paltry amount he had in his possession at the moment, and it was essential that he impressed tonight. Had Nan been acquainted with the reason for his need she would probably have lent him the money – but Nick wanted to surprise her.
Whilst at the theatre not long ago he had locked eyes with a pretty creature in the box opposite. It wasn’t just her smiling interest that held him; she was obviously from a wealthy family, for her swan-like neck was encircled with a shimmering white and green necklace – and it certainly wasn’t glass. On making enquiries of a member of the theatre staff during the interval he had discovered that she was the Hon. Edith Waddington. The man with her was her father, a peer of the realm.
Since the split with Moira, Nick had been thinking that it might not be a bad idea to enter himself for the marriage stakes – and what better match than this little bloodstock filly? His ensuing machinations had brought him into the company of the peer, where his charming conversation had earned tonight’s dinner engagement. If it went well the invitation would be returned – Nick would be invited to the peer’s home where he would meet the daughter and things would progress from there… at least they would if he could get his hands on enough to entertain the peer in the manner to which he was accustomed. It had been a bit impulsive to make the invitation before he was sure of the funds. He counted the money again as if half-expecting to have made a mistake, then sighed – he never made mistakes about cash. Damn. He couldn’t sit at that table with this measly amount in his pocket. He could have borrowed it from the till, but didn’t know when he would be able to put it back. Anyway, once one started dibbing into the till things could get out of hand. Should he postpone the engagement? No, he might not get another chance. Besides which, supper at home would hardly be the jovial affair it once might have been what with Father locking the drinks cabinet – Gramps put the miseries on everyone unless he’d had a few jars down him.… My God! Nick laughed delightedly. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Checking the contents of his pocket one last time he left the office, grinning confidently.
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