The main course was followed by an apple pudding with mouth-melting crust and dollops of fresh cream.
Afterwards, Florence, rising from the table with the graciousness of a town hostess, said, ‘Would you care to come into the parlour for coffee?’
Her voice was almost cut off with Hannah bellowing, ‘Not you, not you lot! You sit where you are and you’ll help with the washing up, every blasted man-Jack of you.’
There were groans and chit-chat from the boys as the elders left the table and followed Florence into ‘the parlour’. They entered the room by one of the two doors leading off from under the staircase. It extended over the ground floor of one cottage, and it presented to Constance a fascinating picture of a Victorian sitting room or, as Florence called it correctly, a parlour. There was an inlaid wooden-framed couch in faded fawn tapestry with two matching chairs; there was a blanket box couch with a single head and drop foot covered in tapestry that had once been red; there was a circular table with four claw feet in the middle of the room; across one corner stood an upright piano in a fretwork frame; in the opposite, also standing crosswise against the walls, was a cabinet filled to capacity with what Constance instantly recognised as Coalport china. A heavy ornate sideboard stood to the side of the window, and on each end of this stood a crystal ornament, the shimmering light on the glass reflecting a thousandfold in the ray of the lamp that was set between them. Another lamp with a pink oil bowl resting on top of a slender stem was placed at the centre of the circular table. The floor was entirely covered with the remains of a good Wilton carpet. The fireplace was of rough stone, similar to the one up at the house, and in front of it was a filigree brass fender with a black iron bottom. To complete the picture, standing opposite the couch on a sofa table was a tray of delicate cups and saucers, more Coalport.
When, with the exception of Hannah and Kathy, who were still in the other room, they were all seated there fell on them that awkward silence that often descends on a company, until Jim bridged it by heaving a big sigh and saying, ‘All I want to do now is to lie back and smoke; which, in my own way, means I’ve thoroughly enjoyed a fine meal.’
He inclined his head towards Florence, and she smiled back at him; and now Sean said, ‘Finest cook in the county bar none, that’s my wife.’ And he jerked his head towards her.
‘Do you keep many pigs, Mr O’Connor?’ asked Peter.
Sean screwed round in his chair to look at him. ‘As many as ten sows will give me in a year, boy.’
‘We passed a great flock of sheep when we came up yesterday. They were over by Allerybank Moor,’ said Constance. ‘They had clean faces and legs. I haven’t seen any like them before.’
‘No; no. They’re the Scotch half-breeds; as you say, a clean face and legs. They’d be Tennent’s. No, I keep the black-faced. You can’t better them; they’ll stand hail, snow and flood water, and come through. And that’s the opinion of many around here. They’ve taken the prize again and again at the Royal Highland Show, you know…Have you ever been to the Royal Highland Show, Mrs Stapleton?’
‘No; I’m afraid I haven’t.’ Constance smiled at Sean and he, putting his head back, said, ‘And why for would you now, unless you were interested in livestock? Up to these last few weeks I’d like to bet you could hardly tell the difference between a goat and a sheep, and that you thought a Galloway was a pit pony.’
‘Well, isn’t it?’
‘There, what did I tell you?’ He laughed loudly. ‘No, no; it’s a breed of cattle they rear in these parts.’ Sean, giving the impression of being a knowledgeable farmer, was enjoying himself.
At this moment Kathy entered the room carrying a tray on which stood a heavily ornamented silver coffee pot and matching jug. She set them down on the table to her mother’s hand and Florence, looking up at her, said quietly, ‘Fetch Hannah in. Tell her to leave things…fetch her in.’
A few minutes later Hannah followed Kathy into the room, saying, ‘I’m not goin’ to sit on me backside all night with that lot to face out there, so don’t try an’ persuade me otherwise.’ She was wagging her finger towards Florence, and Florence, smiling gently at her, said, ‘Well, sit yourself down for a minute and drink a cup of coffee.’
Whilst pouring the coffee, Florence enquired of her guests whether they required black or white; then, the cups filled, she handed them to Vincent, who in turn handed them first to the guests, then one to Hannah, another to Kathy, and last, he served his father. With a cup in his own hand he now stood at the end of the couch. There was room on the couch, but he did not seat himself until Hannah, who was seated the other side of Constance, looked up at him and said, ‘Take the weight off your legs, boy, and sit yourself down.’ And after a moment’s hesitation he took his seat at Constance’s side.
To the right of them, seated in an armchair, was Jim Stapleton; and on a hassock to the side of him sat Kathy; and opposite, but some distance from her, was Peter, with Sean seated to the right of him.
The conversation divided itself: Sean began to ask Peter questions about the work ahead of him at university, and Peter answered, but every now and again he would turn his attention to his father, who was making Kathy laugh; Florence, from her chair by the end of the couch, talked intermittently with Hannah, and Hannah, seated next to Constance, brought her into the conversation; but no words passed between Constance and Vincent O’Connor.
The general conversation was flagging again, apart from that between Jim and Kathy, when the door opened and the three youngest boys and Moira pushed each other into the room. Rushing towards their mother, they chorused, ‘We’re off to bed, Mother,’ and one after the other they kissed her on the cheek. Then, still pushing and giggling, they gave the same salutation to Hannah.
‘Quiet now!’ admonished Florence sternly. ‘Say goodnight to Mr and Mrs Stapleton.’
‘Goodnight, Mrs Stapleton. Goodnight, Mr Stapleton. Goodnight, Mr—’ They looked enquiringly at Peter; then Joseph and Davie pushed at each other again and drooped their heads, and Peter, smiling, said, ‘Peter’ll do.’ Again they all laughed, and then they went scampering out of the room.
At this point Kathy looked across at Vincent and said, ‘It’s nearly time, isn’t it?’ And he, looking at his watch, answered, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘You’re going back to Newcastle tonight?’ Jim was bending over the side of the chair gazing down into Kathy’s upturned face, and she nodded brightly at him, saying, ‘Yes, we must be in by ten-thirty.’
‘Oh, then I’ll drop you there.’
Before Kathy could make any response Peter, his voice high and seeming to thrust him up out of his chair, cried, ‘No! No, you won’t. I’ll take her back.’
There followed a moment of dead silence in which Peter stared at his father, before he drooped his head.
Kathy rose from her low seat and, looking first at Peter, and then towards Jim said, ‘Thanks…Thank you both, but Vin always takes me in.’ She walked across the room and as she passed Vincent, she said, ‘I won’t be a minute,’ and he, rising to his feet, nodded at her, then followed her out.
Jim Stapleton’s face was a dull red; his mouth was set in a grim line and he sat staring fixedly at his son, while Hannah gabbled to Constance about the strictness of those places that treated the staff like bairns; in on the dot or else you were for it, up on the carpet in the morning. And the work the poor lasses had to do! Not satisfied with making them care for dozens of bairns, they gave them books to fill. And what did they expect them to put in the books? It was the case of trying to fill a full pail all over again, for what they had to write was practically a description of what they had been doing all day. Did you ever now, did you ever?
A few minutes later when Kathy came back into the room to say goodbye, the Stapletons were on their feet ready to go, and she stood in front of Constance and said quietly, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Stapleton.’
‘Goodbye, Kathy.’
Then she turned to Jim and said in the same tone, ‘Go
odbye, Mr Stapleton.’
‘Goodbye.’ He did not say her name and there was no smile on his face now.
Kathy turned to Peter and she looked at him hard for a moment before she said, ‘Goodbye, Peter. Be seeing you.’ And he answered, ‘Goodbye, Kathy. Yes, be seeing you.’
Kathy now took leave of her mother and Hannah, kissing them both warmly, and Florence said to her, ‘Goodbye, dear, and mind how you go,’ while Hannah said, ‘Slap all their backsides for me, do you hear? good and hard.’
Kathy laughed and touched Hannah’s fat cheek gently with her fingers. Then she turned to where Sean was waiting for her, and he put his arm round her shoulder, laughing as he said, ‘Come on; I’ll see you off the premises.’
Saying, ‘I’ve had the most lovely evening: I don’t know when I enjoyed a meal more,’ Constance held out her hand to Florence, who took the praise as her due, answering quietly, ‘Thank you, Mrs Stapleton. I…we’ve all enjoyed your coming down.’ She inclined her head towards Peter; and then to Jim; and Peter, offering his hand, said, ‘That goes for me, too. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’ His expression did not entirely bear out his words.
Then it was Jim’s turn. ‘Goodbye, Mrs O’Connor’—there was a smile on his face—‘I can only repeat what I’ve already said; you put on a great spread.’ There was a slight note of condescension in his manner now and Florence inclined her head but said nothing. And now Hannah was shaking Constance’s hand and laughing as she did so. ‘Shaking hands as if one of us was off across the water, when the morrow, so to speak, we’ll be chit-chatting over the wall.’ She moved to Jim now but did not extend her hand as she said, ‘But you, sir, you’ll likely be off the morrow; you’re not so inclined towards desolation. That’s how you see it, isn’t it?’
‘Well, well, not exactly.’ His voice was stiff. ‘But to be quite truthful, I prefer the town.’
‘Yes, I thought so, I thought so.’
They were now all moving towards the door when Hannah, walking by Peter’s side, halted him by a light touch on the arm, and when the others had passed beyond hearing she said to him under her breath, ‘I’ve never thanked you for the ride the other night.’
There was slight confusion in Peter’s face and he began to say, ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ when she slanted her twinkle-deep eyes at him and flapped her hand in front of his face, and followed this with a deep chuckle. ‘Aw, it’s a wicked woman I am. Do you know that, a wicked woman.’
‘I would like to believe you,’ said Peter gallantly, ‘but I’m sorry, I can’t.’
Hannah stood gazing at him. ‘It’s like your mother you are, just like her; you take after her in every way.’
‘I’m glad you think so, Hannah.’
‘I do. I do. Come on. Come on, away with you.’ She pushed him as if he were one of her youngsters.
When they were in the yard Florence asked, ‘Have you a light, or would you like the Tilley?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Constance; ‘we have two torches. You have one, Peter, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Mother.’ He flashed on the torch and saw his father already walking across the yard.
There were more goodbyes, then they followed him.
A few minutes later, Sean, coming into the kitchen, said, ‘What do you think of that now? I just came round the end of the wall and there’s him going on ahead as if the devil was after him, and her and the lad coming up slowly behind. They haven’t had time to have words, now have they?’
‘They’ve had them already,’ said Florence.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The boy, and him, when he jumped in and offered to take Kathy home.’ Florence now turned and looked at Hannah where she was standing with her back to the fire, her skirt pulled up exposing the back of her knees to the flame. ‘Didn’t you notice it?’
‘I did that, and it reminded me of what our Vin said the other night: that there was no love lost between that father and son. There’s somethin’ fishy there. The more I see of him, the less I like him. I’ve got a feeling he’s no better than meself, for all he writes books. But her now. I’ve taken to her, if you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I know what you mean, Hannah.’
‘Do you know somethin’? I wouldn’t be in her shoes for all the tea in China.’ They were talking to each other as if Sean weren’t there, and he suddenly made his presence felt by saying, ‘Aw now, don’t take things too far, both of you; the man’s merely a town type and, as such, not understandable to the likes of us. But still’—he rubbed his chin—‘it was odd like, that bit of exchange atween them, as you say. Do you think’—he looked at Florence. ‘Do you think he’s gone on our Kathy? The boy, I mean. Oh my God! The boy I mean.’ He was laughing loudly now, and Florence answered, ‘Oh no, not at all; he hasn’t had time.’
‘Oh, talk sense, woman, talk sense.’ Sean had accompanied his words with a smile, and taking a pouch from the mantelpiece, he sat down and put his feet up on a cracket to the side of the hearth. ‘Anyway’—he looked at Florence—‘you let them see how things should be done and they were impressed. Oh aye, they were impressed. And who wouldn’t be? That was indeed a meal, a grand meal.’ He patted his stomach; and Florence, taking from the dresser a candlestick that held a half-burned wax candle in its holder, said, ‘Well, I must away to bed, I’m very tired. Goodnight, Hannah.’
‘Goodnight, Florence.’
‘Goodnight, dear.’
Florence O’Connor made her way to her room and left the other woman with her husband for a few minutes, which she usually did at times at the end of the day such as this. After all it was Hannah’s due; and it was all she got at this time of her life.
Two
Vincent stepped down from the Land Rover and walked slowly towards the workshop, and as he was about to enter the doorway Hannah called loudly across the yard, ‘I’ve just made a brew up,’ and he nodded to her, saying, ‘I’ll be over in a minute.’
From the cow byre his father also called to him: ‘The Duchess is niggly this morning; only just over a gallon.’
‘Oh yes?’ Vin nodded back at him absentmindedly, then entered the workshop, leaving the door open, knowing his father would follow.
When Sean entered the shop he said immediately, ‘Do you think you’ll be able to do this, Vin? I mean all on your own? Even with me helpin’ with the packing and such it’s going to be some job, and it’s gettin’ the crates to the railroad.’
‘I have my eye on a second-hand truck.’
‘Oh, begod! Now you’re talkin’.’
‘And you know, Dad’—Vincent took off his jacket, then set a lathe in motion, before he added, ‘we went into all this. You’re going to pull your weight?’
‘Now who said I wasn’t? Aw, be fair, boy; I’ll pull me weight, every ounce of it. But what I was just thinkin’ is, if the concern grows…?’
‘It isn’t off the ground yet. We’ll talk about it growing when it starts to pay its way.’
‘Yes, yes, boy, you’re right, you’re right. And here’s me standing jabberin’ instead of gettin’ down to it. But…but I heard Hannah back there sayin’ she had brewed up. Come over and let’s have a cup or so afore we start, eh?’
‘You go on; I’ll be over in a minute.’
‘Right you are.’
Left alone, Vincent switched off the machine and stood staring at it: there was something he had to do and he wouldn’t rest until it was done. Kathy was right. Why blacken himself further than was necessary? He’d go up and explain. It couldn’t alter what he had done, but it would show her why he had done it…But what if he was still there? He remembered hearing him say something about going off first thing in the morning. Or was it the boy who had said that? Well, he could dander up with the milk and if he was there he could say he had come up to see how they were all faring, to make sure they weren’t suffering from the after-effects of the rich pork …
A few minutes later, Sean, entering the yard to give V
incent a shout, saw his son going out through the gap in the wall with a milk can in his hand, and he walked slowly after him and watched him mount the hill to the house. When he returned to the kitchen he looked at Florence, and then at Hannah, then back to Florence before he said, ‘He’s gone up above.’
Florence made no response; she just stared at her husband while Hannah put her fingers across her mouth and muttered, ‘Oh, Holy Mary. If anybody in this world asks to be crucified, it’s him.’
Vincent, his step slow, was approaching the side of the house when the sound of raised voices came to him. Only once before had he heard her voice rise above a level tone; that day in the workshop when she was angry. But now she was shouting; yet what she was saying was incomprehensible to him. He halted at the corner where the terrace began and he looked towards the stone wall which was muting the voices. After a moment of staring he was about to retrace his steps when a voice, no longer muted, came from the terrace, crying, ‘Well, I’ve warned you! You keep him out of my hair; I’ve enough to put up with from you and your nagging. And another thing. You carry out your threat about the flat and you’ll see what’ll happen. Mind, I’m warning you!’ As the footsteps pounded swiftly away towards the other end of the terrace, Vincent leant against the wall and pulled his lower lip tightly in between his teeth.
It was a good five minutes later when at a brisk pace he marched along the terrace and knocked on the door. When Constance opened it, he stared at her for a moment without speaking: she hadn’t, as he had imagined, been crying. Her eyes were not red, but they seemed to have grown to twice their normal size, their brown hue appearing almost black against the whiteness of her face.
The Solace of Sin Page 17
