‘Sure?’
Ma jerked her head quickly. ‘Where . . .’s Molly?’
‘Shopping.’
‘Read it.’
Sarah tore at the envelope and skimmed the contents quickly.
Dear Ma,
You was always good to me over me feet and I have not forgot. I was there the nite of all the bother only I never dared say. The boss pays the rent here and I have not got nowere else to go to. So I will be in the grave when you get this Ma.
Molly come in dirty and I told her off. Master Charles come in all mucky to. There were nowt I cud do over it with the job. I never had no mony of me own see. His clothes was spoilt.
Later on he went in her room I saw him come out. It were gone one in the morning. She were crying but I never went neer I am sorry Ma.
She had them twins what I have seen in town I know they are his. It has sat in me mind all the years but I were to scared. Ma beleeve me this is the only thing I can think to do about it. I never said nothing. So nobody else thinks them kids is his.
Pleese find it in your hart to forgive an old woman. But I wood not rest in the grave till you got this letter. From Cissie.
‘I knew they were from a different batch,’ muttered Sarah before reading the letter to Ma.
A single tear ran down Ma’s cheek. ‘P . . . oor Cissie. I knew. I al . . . ways knew. No nee . . . d to tell me. Poor C . . . issie.’
‘What? You knew the twins were his?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about Paddy? Does he know?’
‘No.’
‘And Molly?’
‘Thinks it’s her se . . . cret.’
‘Well.’ Sarah screwed the note into a ball and pushed it deep into her top pocket. ‘Best get rid of this, then. What a bloody pickle, eh? Does Swainbank know he has these two children?’
‘Yes. He kno . . . ws.’
‘Bloody hell fire!’
‘Wh . . . at?’
Sarah began to pace about the floor, her black Wellington boots quietly padding to and fro between Ma’s chair and the bed. She pulled a hand through stringy grey hair and turned to face her friend, this poor dear woman whose family had made her so welcome in a world that still remained alien. ‘His boys are dead, Ma! They were both killed a few weeks ago in a car. Never did like bloody cars. Rather trust a good horse any time . . .’
‘Sa . . . rah?’
‘Only found out myself a couple of days ago, didn’t realize the significance to you. Now, I’m not saying for one minute that he might start taking an interest in the twins, but forewarned is forearmed. Are you in pain, Ma?’
‘No.’ Her face was white and strained. ‘Do . . . es Molly know his bo . . . ys are dead?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘She said nothing to me. But there again, this is not the sort of thing she’ll want to draw attention to, is it? If she’s had this secret for fifteen years, she’s hardly going to blurt it out at this point. This is complicated. Tell me, does Molly know that Swainbank is aware of the children’s existence? Did she tell him she was pregnant?’
‘N . . . o. I told him, just me on m . . . y own. But Joey loo . . . ks like him. Mo . . . lly will be fright . . . ened.’
‘Surprised Paddy never noticed.’
‘Padd . . . ee sees what Padd . . . ee wants to s . . . ee.’
‘True.’ Sarah continued to pace the room. ‘There are several possibilities here. Firstly, Swainbank may not give a damn about Molly’s kids. After all, he is supposed to be gentry and I know well enough about that sort of thing with my own stupid family. Secondly, he may decide to have more children – after all, Amelia’s not forty, so it’s still feasible. And young Harold had a son, you know, so there is a rightful heir.’
‘B . . . ut Molly may be worry . . . ing.’
‘Indeed she might, but there’s nothing we can do about that, Ma. Not without telling her you’ve known all along. What would that do to her? I really think you should have let her know before now. Before she married Paddy. That might have been easiest all round.’
‘I want . . . ed to leave her s . . . ome pride!’
Sarah laughed mirthlessly. ‘And what’s pride worth, Ma? Is it worth all this agonizing now? I imagine that Molly too is suffering, hypothesizing about the future, wondering whether or no he’s seen the twins and recognized his family’s features. And here you sit with a burden an ox couldn’t shift, filled with guilt because you failed to protect Molly against this eventuality. Yes, it’s a rum do. Don’t know how to advise you. Except to say best do nothing. Nothing’s been done for years, so I don’t see the benefit of a change in tactics now. Just hold on and wait. And don’t let this impede your progress.’
‘No. I sha . . . ll have need of stren . . . gth now. Things to do. Ma . . . ny things to do.’
When Sarah had left, Ma sat for a while as if drawing breath after a race. This was it, then. The time was here and now. The time for her to begin working on a new set of lies, to lay the foundations for a Maguire business. Aye, and built on Swainbank’s money too. Should she tell Molly the truth now? No, best to wait like Sarah said, best leave well alone. If only she could get to Mr Barton! The shops would be available any minute for the twins to run. There was so much to explain, like getting Molly to help the children start the shops, like discussing what kind of shops they would be, there was stock to buy, there were deeds to sign.
Was it best to leave it all, forget the shops, give the deeds back? After all, the opening of a couple of shops in Bolton would draw Swainbank’s attention, help him remember that he had supported the twins. But if the deeds were returned, that too would bring Molly into his mind, make him wonder . . . It was a maze, an endless maze with no escape from the centre. So she must go ahead. With all of it, just as she’d always planned.
Mr Barton had better stick to the story come the day. She didn’t want Molly and the kiddies finding out from him where the money was really coming from. If anybody should ever be forced to give away the truth, then it should certainly be herself.
Janet fell in at the door. ‘Where’s Miss Leason? Has she been?’
‘Been and go . . . ne.’
‘She must have gone the back way, ’cos I never saw her. Guess what? He can walk proper, like a real dog.’ She patted Yorick’s yellow head. ‘I’ve trained him.’
‘Good.’
‘What’s wrong, Gran?’
Ma sighed sadly. If Harold had left a lad, if Charles had managed to forget Molly and the babies . . . Surely it would all work out? There was no cause for concern, none at all. A mill owner had lost his sons, but that should not affect the family of a part-time drover. They were registered Maguires. And a Maguire was not a Swainbank, just as day was never night.
‘You all right?’ asked Janet again.
‘Yes. Up and about soo . . . n.’
‘I’ve got something to tell you, Gran.’ Janet dropped to the floor beside Ma’s chair and sat hugging her knees. ‘I’ve been in Miss Leason’s.’
‘Why?’
‘I took her bag and bucket back – she was always forgetting them. Anyway, she wasn’t in, so I put them under the table.’
‘Good.’
‘I knocked a big box over. It was full of money, stuffed to the top. I’ve never seen so much in my life. Why doesn’t she put it in the bank, Gran? Me dad always said she had plenty after the sale, but I didn’t know she kept it in the house stuck in a biscuit box under the table.’
‘She doesn’t belie . . . ve in banks. Doesn’t believe in any . . . thing except her moo . . . rs and her horses. And her cats.’
‘But it’s just sitting there! Anybody could take it, anybody!’
Joey, who had left his heavy handcart on the corner while he got a drink of pop from the scullery, pinned his ear to Gran’s door and listened hard. In a biscuit box under the table, eh? Christ, what he could do with a nice pile of money.
‘Why doesn’t she get the house done up, Gran?’ Janet was saying now. ‘They’re
posh houses down Lever Lane, there’s only a few rented. Hers is the worst, yet she’s all that money doing nothing.’
‘She’s not inter . . . ested,’ came Gran’s stumbling reply.
Joey stepped back silently. He could find a use for it, he could that! A nice house, a car, some proper boots and clothes – no! People would notice, it would take brains to cope with a windfall like that. He’d emigrate. He’d get boat tickets for America and force Janet to come with him. They could have a ranch – he’d get a horse like the cowboys had in the pictures, go for a drink in the saloon, ride over the mountains and look for gold. Or they might go to New York and make a fortune, or to California and get Janet in the films – she was bonny enough . . .
No, he wasn’t planning anything. It was just an idea, just a daft idea. Wasn’t it?
Nay, what did old Witchie Leason want with a load of cash? She’d likely not long to go for all she was strong. And who would she leave it to? Somebody with a rest farm for old donkeys, a cats’ home? He needed it and so did Janet, only she hadn’t the sense to see what was staring her in the face, daft lass. How could he get it? He thought about this for a while. Wait till Witchie was asleep, then in and out like a shadow, nobody to know it was him. Yes, it would have to be at night. Even if the crazy old bat did leave her door open at times, a boy creeping in during the day could well be remembered once money had gone missing. It was one thing to climb over and look for balls, another entirely to do a proper robbery like what they sometimes wrote about in the papers.
He moved well back from Gran’s room and sat pondering by the fireplace. Getting out of here at night was not going to be easy, not with the four of them sleeping in the one room. And Janet and Daisy’s half, at the other side of the folding screen, was nearest the door. So, not only would he have to get out of bed without disturbing their Michael – he’d also need to get past the girls. And with two double beds in that small space, there was hardly room to move without bumping into something.
Aye, this was what it meant, being poor. Four kids in one room, no bath, clogs instead of shoes. He hated it, felt little but contempt for those who endured it year in, year out, never a question, never a thought to betterment. Like sheep they were, waiting for the masters to set the dog on them, grateful for a handful of spare fodder. The unions couldn’t do nowt, not really. Load of windbags, they were – it was still them and us no matter what the stewards tried to do. Well, Joey didn’t want the crumbs that fell off the top table. Oh no, he wanted the whole bloody loaf and the gravy that went with it. He wanted to sit at the head of that table today, not tomorrow or next flaming week!
He jumped up and stood on the peg rug, feet tapping, his mind demanding that his body should keep pace with its swift activity. It would have to be tonight, get it over and done with. If he didn’t do it right away, then he never would.
‘What’s up with you?’ Janet startled him as she entered from the best room. ‘Twitching like a cat on hot bricks, you are. Something on your mind?’
‘No. No, I just wondered if you wanted to go to the pictures tonight.’
‘I thought you were clearing that house next door to Miss Leason?’
‘Nearly finished. Just one more trip.’
She stood in front of the dresser and stared at him. ‘You’re up to something, Joey. I can always tell when you’re working on one of your schemes. You nearly had the rug worn out when you were planning that doorstep round, reckoning up how much sandy stone and how much white you’d need. Yes, you’re up to something, I can smell it.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Tell that to the pigeons, Joey. You’re like a clock with no back on – I can spot your workings from a mile off. What is it this time? A rag and bone round, window-cleaning, singing to the picture queues?’
He knew his face was brick-red again. If only she wouldn’t read him so easily and so often! To cover his discomfort, he asked again, ‘What about this film tonight, then?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged, her grey eyes downcast. ‘Don’t feel like it. I’ll help Mam and Gran with the exercises. And whatever you’re thinking on, Joey, is best left alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know! But stop dreaming, will you? One of these days, your plans will get you in real trouble. You’ve that shifty look on you again, that look you always had when you’d been caned at school and I had to cover up for you in case Mam gave you another clout.’
The shade of Joey’s skin had darkened to beetroot. ‘You don’t half talk rubbish, our Janet! It’s all in your imagination!’
‘Is it? I thought I had none of that, according to you. Didn’t you say last week that I was too easy satisfied, no ambition, couldn’t imagine me way out of a wet paper bag?’
Molly broke the mood by bursting in at the front door with the two younger children in tow. ‘Get up them stairs,’ she screamed at Michael. ‘Shown me up good and proper this time, he has. He run off from the dentist’s! While our Daisy was having her teeth looked at, he shot out of that front door like a bullet from a gun! You’ll end up with pot ones like your Granny’s,’ she yelled at the boy’s disappearing back. Molly threw her aching body into a chair. ‘Where have I gone wrong, eh? I’d half the street out last week with him tying door-knockers together and chucking rice at folks’ upstairs windows six o’clock of a Sunday morning. Honest, you do your best, try to keep them healthy and well-fed with a full set of teeth and all – what do they do? Turn on you, is what.’
Janet tried not to grin. ‘He’s scared of the dentist, Mam. It’s ever since somebody told him about getting teeth taken out with a pair of clog nail pincers. He’ll not admit it, him being such a tough lad. But he whimpered all night in his sleep – he can’t help it. It’s only like you and spiders. Shall I make you a nice cup of tea?’
‘Aye. That’d happen be a good idea. And where are you sloping off to?’ This question was directed at Joey who was making for the door.
‘I’ve a job on. After that, I’m going to the pictures without them that are too good to come with me. When I’ve took the cart back, I’ll find somebody sensible to go to the Odeon with.’ He went out and slammed the door.
‘What’s up with everybody?’ asked Molly of no-one in particular.
Janet closed her mouth firmly and brewed the tea. No point in discussing any of it, really. Miss Leason’s money, Joey’s strange moods, Michael’s naughtiness. She pushed Joey’s blue mug away inside the dresser cupboard. He wasn’t here for tea. It was as if he wasn’t going to be here again. In his mind, her brother was already miles away and she knew it. And he wouldn’t come back until he was ready.
Joey balanced on a couple of bricks and peered over Witchie Leason’s high back gate. Just a quick look, that was all he’d need. They were sash windows, not easy to open if the butterfly was clipped from the inside, but they were rotted right through, most of the putty flaking away to dust. Happen he could lift a pane out in one piece without making any noise. The back door had long rectangles of glass in its top half. If he could break one of these quietly, he might be able to reach in and turn the key. One way or another, he would get in tonight.
He stepped down on to the pavement, his eyes darting this way and that to make sure nobody was watching. Not that they’d think much of it – loads of people went looking for their ball back from over Witchie Leason’s. And he was working next door clearing out, had been hanging around for hours.
Joey walked home slowly, deliberately working on a way to straighten his face. Whatever he felt, whatever excitement he held inside himself, it must not show.
Fortunately for him, there was so much going on when he got home, so much noise and movement that not one of them paid him much heed.
Paddy stood swaying on the bottom stair, his voice raised in anger and self-pity. ‘Where’s me bloody pension?’ he was screaming, obviously the worse for drink, drink Joey had smuggled to him earlier in th
e day.
‘It’s not a pension!’ shouted Molly. ‘It’s a retainer, a few paltry bob! I’m feeding seven mouths with it!’ She’d got extra of course, from Ma, from the box beneath the bed. ‘What do you expect, Paddy, when you won’t work?’
‘I expect gratitude, that’s what!’ He fought to maintain a dignity already depleted by a sudden and total lack of co-ordination. ‘I got this hand feeding mouths! The hand that feeds has got bit, near bit off altogether and me no more than a lad at the time.’ His eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘Don’t start telling me about filling mouths, Molly Maguire! This hand, this poor hand . . .’ He waved an arm, then, realizing that he was displaying the wrong limb, made the necessary adjustments and stumbled down the last stairs. ‘This hand died so others might live! This hand is a monument, that’s what it is. A monument. So where’s me bloody bit of pension?’
‘Gone.’ She stood, hands on hips, her attitude challenging. ‘Will you take the bread from my babies’ mouths so that you can pour filth down your throat? Will you?’
‘Quarter of a thumb, I’ve bloody got . . .’
‘A half.’
‘Oh, so we’re going to argue over flaming fractions now, are we? You’d have me working till I dropped, you would. What about this better or worse and sickness and health, eh?’
‘Don’t forget richer or poorer, Paddy.’
‘I’m not likely, am I? Can’t even have a drop of milk stout out of me own pension, a pension what I earned, a pension what I had bits cut off me for. Burned my bloody hand away, they have! Give it here! Come on, pass it over woman, afore I lose my rag.’
‘Pa . . . trick Maguire!’
‘Oh heck.’ Paddy sank to the floor as his mother entered from the best room.
‘Get up those stairs now! Th . . . is minute!’ She watched her son as he turned and crawled through the stairway door. ‘Con . . . fession!’ she said grimly. ‘For swearing!’
A great fuss was made of Ma as she took her first meal with the family. Paddy kept well out of it, cursing Molly quietly when she took up his tray. But the one who must truly, for ever and immediately be obeyed had risen, not only from her bed, but also against all odds and probabilities. Even from upstairs, Paddy could feel her power. Like an invisible gas it soaked through floorboards, penetrating every pore of every brick, curling and twisting its unseen tentacles around everything that moved and everything that stood still. Or lay still. He sighed. His long rest was over. Swainbank’s tomorrow, look for a bit of droving. Other folks didn’t have mothers like his. Why was he so blessed?
With Love From Ma Maguire Page 31