Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  Kate, who had at once noticed the immediate trembling of Jenny’s lower lip, hurried to say: “Oh, Pearce, please do come with us, it would be so nice, just the three of us off on our own for once in a lifetime. Please. Please say you’ll come. Anyway, apart from anything else, it makes it rather look as if you don’t trust Daniel.”

  Kate’s observation struck home. With an impatient wave of his hand, Pearce indicated that the matter was resolved. But even so, just before setting out with Jenny and his wife for the Children’s Corner, he turned to his son.

  “One last thing, Daniel, my boy. You see that rowing boat of Mrs Graham’s? I believe I’ve already warned you on that subject. Well, you leave that strictly alone, boy. Do you hear? Is that fully understood? Fully understood, I repeat. That boat or indeed any unattended boat is strictly out of bounds as far as you and your sisters are concerned. Is that crystal clear?”

  Daniel, greatly daring, cleared his throat.

  “Dadda, a moment ago you thought of staying behind here with Hannah, Isabella, and myself. Would you not change your mind and perhaps even take us all out in the boat yourself? That would be a real treat for us. Would you do that for us Dadda?”

  Pearce’s reply snapped back immediately.

  “No, Daniel, even if I were to remain with you, I would most certainly not be messing about in any boat with you crew. In fact, were I to stay, I’d be sitting against the sea wall with my book of poetry. Merely keeping an eye on you. So, you can disabuse yourself of any idea of my setting out to sea with you lot.”

  At these words so harshly and thoughtlessly spoken, even Kate felt affronted. And so closely attuned was she to her dear Danny Boy that she could almost guess at the thoughts going through his head right at that moment.

  The look on the boy’s face spoke volumes:

  Father, could you not just once in your life give into my wishes. I’ve heard you boasting to neighbours, yes, and even to Mrs Graham about what a fine oarsman you were in your youth. Well, why not take me out in the wee boat and show me how it should be done. Surely that wouldn’t kill you, now would it?

  Right. If that’s the way you want it. Then strangers is what we’ll be. Never again in my life will I ask you for anything. No, in future, no matter what happens, I wouldn’t even give you the time of day, far less my friendship, love, or even a scrap of respect. As of now, father, you’re a big round nothing in my life – at least until the day comes that I get my revenge. Meantime, father, thanks for nothing as usual.

  Chapter 27

  For Jenny and her parents, their morning at the Children’s Corner had been a great success. Despite the many other excellent entries, Jenny’s creation, a handkerchief beflagged sand castle with its own shell-edged moat, had won first prize in the girls’ section. The three of them strolled along in the sunshine, her mother and father arm-in-arm, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowded promenade, where excited children dashed about, dogs barked, seagulls squawked overhead, and the smell of seaweed wafted over the rocks.

  Jenny clutched to her bosom her hard-won prize for the competition. Every so often, she would look at her prize, convinced she was the envy of every other girl in the whole Island of Bute on that lovely summer’s day. Her first prize had taken the form of a beautifully-dressed china doll, with whose sweet face Jenny had already fallen in love. Catching her daughter’s look of pride, Kate nudged her husband.

  “My word, Pearce. But isn’t that a lovely doll? And wasn’t our Jenny a clever wee lass to win it all by herself’?”

  In a rare good humour, and always one for success of whatever nature, Pearce beamed down at his ten year-old daughter.

  “Clever, did you say, Mother? Yes, indeed. I’m sure she’s the smartest girl in the whole of Rothesay.”

  They all laughed and in high glee, and Jenny went skipping along the promenade ahead of them.

  Arriving at the Bathing Station, she stopped to peer through the railings at the busy scene below on the shore. She was pushing her head further forward when there was a warning shout from her mother.

  “Jenny lass. Take care. Mind you don’t fall through. Still keeping a firm hold on her already-precious dolly, Jenny drew back from her precarious situation.

  “I know what, Mother. If it’s adventure young Jenny wants, let’s all go for a wander in the forest – in Skeoch Woods. You’d like that now Jenny, wouldn’t you? And who knows? We might even meet some little elves and fairy folk. You never know.”

  Kate laughed, but looked uncertain.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting back to the others? It’s already past noon and Mrs Graham will be sure to have our meal on the table on the very dot of one o’clock. You know fine what she’s like. Anyway, the other three will be looking out for us. We did promise to be back by twelve o’clock, didn’t we?”

  Pearce frowned then, waiving aside all of Kate’s objections, he took Jenny by the hand.

  “Nonsense, Kate. We’re on holiday, woman. No need for us to be running to a time-table. Plenty of time for a spot of adventure in the enchanted forest. Anyway, the fairy-folk are good friends of mine from my boyhood days in Ireland. They’ll simply wave a magic wand and get us back in lots of time. So, no rush at all. Let’s go.”

  When finally the three happy holidaymakers emerged tired but triumphant from the dense woods, they were still laughing and joking together as at no other time in their past family life.

  Removing his pocket watch, Pearce studied it then, in voice of mock alarm, said: “Ten minutes till mealtime. Looks like my fairy friends let me down after all. Come on then, you two, best hurry along – or Mrs Graham will indeed read us all the Riot Act.”

  Again they laughed even more heartily than ever when Dadda broke into an anxious exaggerated and hurried turkey-trot. All this while, Kate mentally hugged her happiness to her heart.

  `Oh, why can’t life always be like this? This is wonderful. Never before have I seen Pearce so relaxed. What a great holiday. And a cottage to see about on Monday. Oh, dear God, thank you. What have I ever done to deserve such happiness?’

  As they were nearing their boarding-house, Jenny noticed a crowd of people congregated over near Mrs Graham’s own stretch of shore. She tugged excitedly at Dadda’s hand.

  “Oh, look, Dadda. Is it another sand castle competition, do ye think? Can we go and look at it?”

  Pearce smiled fondly at his daughter.

  “Well, my dear, I should say it’s highly unlikely to be another competition. Not over there, anyway. And, no, I don’t think we’ve got time to take a look at this stage. After all, dear Mrs Graham will be dishing out the mince and tatties any minute now, as your Mammy pointed out earlier. It really isn’t fair to keep the poor woman waiting. You know how delicious the food is, always piping hot, and she does take such a pride in it.”

  But Jenny looked so crestfallen that her Dadda laughed and, quite unlike his usual brusque city manner, he once again acted the carefree holiday-maker and relented without further ado.

  “Well then, Jenny, if it means all that much to you, perhaps another couple of minutes won’t make all that much difference to the scheme of things. Over we go. Who knows, perhaps someone has caught a giant fish, or even a whale like Jonah. Now wouldn’t that be something to tell your friends back in the Candleriggs?”

  The trio crossed the road and joined the outer edge of the visibly excited, shuffling, yet strangely quiet crowd of people. When, after a couple of seconds, they could still see nothing of any interest, Pearce turned to another bystander.

  “What’s going on, sir? Why the crowd? Damned if I can see anything.”

  The other man turned to his questioner.

  “I suppose the excitement, if that’s what you could call it,” he said quietly, “is all over, bar the shouting, as they say in these parts. The other one is being tended up yonder in the big hoose the noo. But, the other poor wee bairn ... weel ... I’m afraid it’s ...”

  The man shook his head sadly
, as if words were beyond him.

  Pearce’s face went ashen, despite his fine Rothesay tan. He grabbed the man roughly by his sleeve.

  “What other one? What other poor wee bairn? What in God’s name are you talking about, man?”

  The man shook off Pearce’s hand, and shrugged his shoulders.

  At that point, another bystander, obviously still buoyed up by the excitement of the occasion and eager to get his sixpence worth in, leant forward.

  “Aye, man. Ah seen the whole bloody business. It was two weans – some o thae holiday kids, city slickers most like never even seen a boat aw their life afore. Weel, man, Ah’m telling you, it was ...”

  Pearce grabbed this long-winded witness by his jacket lapels, and shouted hysterically at the man.

  “For God’s sake. What exactly did you see? Quick. Tell me, for the love of God.”

  The man angrily shook himself free of Pearce’s grip. “All right, man. Keep yer hauns to tae yersel’. Ah’ll tell ye aw ye want tae know.”

  Pearce stepped back.

  “It wis twa weans in a boat. A lad and a lassie. The lassie stood up and widnae sit doon tho the laddie shouted at her. Wan o’ the steamers wis jist comin intae the pier and ye ken the kind o’ wash they make. The laddie either didnae ken tae turn his row boat bow on tae the waves or maybe he wis too busy trying tae get the lassie tae sit, but anyway the bout couped o’er and they baith fell in. Some others, once the waves died, rowed like hell fur the upturned boat, but they only found one bairn hangin’ on tae it.

  “Which bairn?” Pearce shouted.

  “Ah dinnae ken, but they’re still lookin fur the other yin.

  Kate didn’t wait for anything further. With a scream, she ran over the road towards the house, with Pearce and Jenny in hot pursuit.

  The sight they saw on entering Mrs Graham’s kitchen froze them to the spot.

  Hannah sat on one side of the fireplace placidly munching on a biscuit.

  On the other side, wrapped in a blanket, Daniel, with a hangdog expression, held a mug of steaming liquid in a trembling hand.

  As if frozen to the spot, Kate and Pearce stood still as statues as they took in this tableau. Kate was the first to recover her composure. She dashed over to her son and threw her arms protectively around the trembling child.

  “Oh my wee darling, Danny. Poor wee soul. Thank God, at least you’re safe. Thank God.”

  The only sound in the kitchen was the ticking of the grandfather clock as Kate rocked her son to and fro in an ecstasy of relief.

  Pearce, with a yell like a wounded animal, shattered the silence. Roaring like an angry bull, Pearce took a step over to his wife and, in one furious movement, wrenched her away from her so recently rescued son.

  Like one demented, he roared at her: “Thank God, did ye say, woman? Thank God? For what? That He left that alive....” he gestured at Hannah, “that useless lump of fat ... that imbecile ... that bloody fuckin’ cretin ... and took away my lovely Isabella. Is that what you’re thanking God for? Christ Almighty.”

  There was a shocked intake of breath from Mrs Graham.

  “Mister Kinnon, sir. I will not have language like that. Not in this Christian household. Of course, sir, fine weel Ah ken ye’ve had a terrible, truly horrific shock, otherwise at the very first hint of such foul language, ye would have been oot o’ that door wi’ yer bags and baggage. Aye. and quicker than ye could say Jock Tamson’s bairns.”

  Pearce rounded on the hapless woman.

  “I’ll thank you to keep your stupid mouth shut madam. The loss is mine, not yours. That being so, I’ll say exactly what I like, when I like and to whom I wish. Is that perfectly clear, madam?”

  After having first cast a warm and sympathetic glance at a still-weeping Kate, Mrs Graham turned to face Pearce.

  “Mister Kinnon, if you please, one thing does seem to have escaped your notice: the loss is not yours alone. What about your poor, dear, wee wife? And not forgetting your other weans. Surely they too are grieving sore enough without hearing you blaspheming and cursing and swearing like some drunken lout. If you can’t show any common decency in ma ain hoose, at least spare a kind thought and maybe even a wee cuddle for yer poor bereaved family in their sad loss. Surely that’s not too much to ask o’ ye, noo is it?”

  “Madam,” Pearce said in his most regal voice. “What concerns my wife and my weans as you call them is my concern, not yours. Anyway, one thing is certain. We will be out of here before nightfall, that I do assure you. So you’ve no further call for worry. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very well, Mister Kinnon, that’s as you wish. But never let it be said I put you out into the street. Anyway, in the sad circumstances, I will not, of course, be rendering any account. I feel it’s the least I can do.”

  Pearce’s face suffused with colour.

  “Thank you, but no, Madam, I would have you aware that the Kinnons have always paid their debts – of whatever nature.”

  With these words, he cast a bitter look at Kate, who at once caught his unspoken meaning and went into a further paroxysm of uncontrolled weeping. If anything, this served only to further infuriate Pearce, especially when his son, Daniel, rose somewhat unsteadily from his seat and went over to offer his dear mother what little comfort he could.

  No sooner were Daniel’s arms around Kate’s neck than Pearce let out a howl of rage. In one bound, he was at their side. Without another word, he grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck and threw him with maniacal force across the room, where he collided with a sickening crunch against the opposite wall.

  This was altogether too much for Mrs Graham, who at once strode to the centre of the room and stood there, arms akimbo.

  “That, Mister Kinnon, sir, is quite enough,” she said in a quiet, controlled voice. “I demand that you leave this room ... my kitchen, may I remind you ... and leave at once. Do you understand me, sir? At once, I say. I take it that you have finished with this disgusting display of violence?”

  Pearce sneered.

  “Finished? Finished, did you say? No, indeed, I have not yet done with it. In fact ... if truth be told ... I’m just getting started.”

  He grabbed hold of Jenny’s lovely new doll and, swinging it by its fancy lace dress, he threw it wildly against the opposite wall, as if aiming directly for Daniel’s tear-stained face. It just missed Daniel’s head. The doll’s pretty little head ricocheted off the wall and smashed to smithereens on the stone floor.

  Amidst a flurry of lace petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnet, and ribbons, there the doll lay, battered beyond recall.

  Part Two – Life Goes On

  Chapter 1

  A year after the fateful holiday, by nine o’clock on a Friday evening, the Kinnon Ceilidh, as Kate called it, was in full flight. Started to raise the children’s spirits from Pearce’s frequent black moods, these evenings were the ideal time since Pearce was never home before eleven o’clock on a Friday. Kate had her own suspicions as to why, but thrust them aside to join the children in merry making.

  Much of the puff candy had been eaten and Kate, laughing and protesting all the while, had been prevailed upon to execute a spirited Highland Fling. Hannah was laughing noisily and rocking to and fro in her own peculiar way, and the other two, Jenny and Daniel, were clapping hands and alternately imitating both the actions and the ear-splitting squeal of playing the bagpipes. Into this hive of riotous activity, the door of the kitchen suddenly burst open – and there Pearce stood, his face suffused with rage.

  For an instant, it seemed he was almost too angry even to be capable of speech. But despite this, the wild staring eyes themselves spoke volumes. When eventually he did manage to splutter incoherently, it was the ravings of a man pushed to the very edge of sanity by his bereavement. When at last in control of himself, he stared with loathing at the erstwhile merrymakers and yelled at them in a voice which could no doubt be heard by the half of Candleriggs.

  “And just what the bloody hell is going on here?
”

  The very sight of him, far less his harsh words, was enough in itself to halt Kate in mid-Schottische. She stood there in an agony of misery, embarrassment and indecision, one hand on one hip, the other raised high above her head.

  She felt she was standing there with her mouth agape, not only at the interruption but also at the surprise, indeed the shock, of seeing Pearce home so early on a Friday night. Almost without volition, she said the first thing that came into her head.

  “Pearce. You’re home early. But ... it’s Friday. So ... what’s happened the night?”

  Looking at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses, the enraged figure, still framed in the kitchen doorway, waved aside her words, and said: “What’s happened indeed. I’ll tell you exactly what’s-happened – I’ve come home early from work after working my fingers to the bone to provide for you all and keep you in a measure of comfort – I’ve come home early from work and caught you all out. That’s what’s happened, my fine lady Kathleen. And just how long has all this been going on – all this unseemly merriment in our house of mourning? How long? Just tell me that.”

  Unable to take in this new and unnerving situation and still totally ignoring his question, Kate said in a voice tinged with wonder: “But, Pearce. You’re never home early on a Friday night. That’s been your habit for more years than I care to remember.”

  His face darkened and the beetle brows drew even closer together as he thundered at her: “Woman. Are you daft? What is it with you? It’s Fair Friday. We can finish work a bit earlier, if we wish. But in past years, I’ve never chosen to claim that special privilege; preferring rather to work on the additional hours for the sake of the extra money, for our common good, I might add.”

  Kate put out a hand, about to speak, but Pearce had not yet finished.