For My Brother’s Sins

by For My Brother's Sins (retail) (epub)

  ‘Aye, yer could start yer own greengrocery round,’ suggested William.

  ‘There y’are, Pat – I told yer he weren’t just for slingin’ nuts at,’ cried Thomasin. ‘My thinking exacdy, Father. We could put our Dickie in charge o’ that.’

  – Oh, you’re too kind, thought Dickie and sipped morosely at his ale. If ye think I’m going to idle me precious time away humping crateloads o’ stinking cabbage then ye can think again. If my father doesn’t want to be a gentleman here’s one that’ll not turn up his nose at it.

  ‘I thought tha said tha’d not given it much thought,’ said William, smacking his lips as he finished his ale. ‘Seems to me tha’s got everyone neatly sorted out into their little pigeonholes. There’s only Sonny left without a job. What about thee, lad? What might thoo like to do wi’ thissen?’

  Sonny placed his glass of ale on a runner and leaned forward intendy. ‘Well,’ he began carefully, tenting his fingertips, ‘seeing as how the subject has been broached …’ What he was really thinking was – Seeing as how nobody else seems to have been given a choice in the matter, I’ll get my two pennorth in while I’m able … ‘What I’d really like to do is to go to art school. I’m sure I’m good enough to get a scholarship and it’s summat…’

  ‘Art school!’ exploded William and Patrick in unison, their disdain and condemnation undisguised.

  Somewhat aggrieved that his idea had been met by such contempt Sonny pressed home his request hurriedly. ‘’Tis not just painting, ye know, they teach designing and architecture an’ all sorts …’

  ‘That’s no sorta job for a man!’ declaimed William. ‘Hangin’ about wi’ a bunch o’ puffs, paintin’ flowers an’ whatnot. God! I’ve never heard owt so daft. Art school, he sez, puh! tha gurt fooil. Tha’s thirteen, lad, time tha were purrin aside all these soft ideas. I thought tha’d grown outta that be now.’

  ‘’Tis right your grandfather is,’ confirmed Patrick. ‘No son of mine is going to waste his life painting pictures. Fortune or no I’ll not squander good money on such an addle-brained idea.’

  ‘If that’s the amount o’ respect ye show for my opinion,’ was Sonny’s tart response, ‘I’m surprised ye even asked for it. After all, ye gave none o’ the others a chance to voice theirs, did ye?’

  Patrick looked uncomfortably at his wife. Even taking into consideration that the boy was getting very assertive that made him no less right. Dickie and Erin had been sort of dragooned into things. This had been justifiable with the former, for if it were left to Dickie he would spend his days sat on his backside, but perhaps Erin should have been given the opportunity to speak her mind. She was, after all, old enough to form a sensible opinion.

  ‘I meant what I said,’ she told him when asked. ‘Only, I’ve just been thinking … she paused for Patrick’s approval, ‘instead of just being a general dogsbody …’

  ‘Oh, Erin!’ cut in her mother. ‘Nobody’s asked yer to be that.’

  ‘No, I know that,’ Erin appeased. ‘I didn’t mean for it to sound recriminating, and I’m quite happy to help ye, Mam, truly I am. Only … well, ye know how I like cooking an’ baking – I mean I’d really have liked to do it for a living – well, I was wondering: how about turning all this produce that me Dad’s going to grow into fruit pies? They’d sell ever so well, I’m sure of it, an’ ye said yourself ye wanted to widen your horizons …’

  ‘Whoa! Whoa!’ Thomasin’s wide mouth stretched into a smile. ‘Don’t get hosses in a foam. We haven’t even got fruit trees planted yet an’ here you are havin’ them all sliced up an’ baked in a pie. I know what I said, but there’s more than just hot-air needed to fly a balloon …’ She smiled sympathetically at the disappointment on her daughter’s face. ‘Still, it were an illuminatin’ idea. Come up with more like that an’ I might give yer a seat on the board. You are a smashing little cook – much better than me – and the minute yer Dad starts to harvest his fruit we’ll implement your suggestion. All right? Happy now?’

  Erin nodded. If she could not have her first wish come true then her second would do. Rose Leng, the cook at the Cummings’ house, had passed on along with countless recipes her own love of cooking and Erin had been a very good pupil. She would not mind helping in the store half so much now.

  ‘I suppose I’m going to get the same treatment, am I?’ said Sonny rather impudently. ‘Patted on the head and told: “There, there. Father knows best. Be a good boy an’ we’ll see in a few years’ time,” hoping I’ll forget about it. Well, I won’t! ’Tis the most important thing in my life, painting. Why should it be denied me just because Father thinks it’s womanish?’

  ‘By, God I’d’ve got a clipped ear’ole if I’d spoken to my father like that!’ burst out William. ‘An’ there’s not just yer dad thinks it’s ’feminate neither.’

  Patrick’s comment was ripe with parental indignation. ‘Ye’ve overstepped the mark, Sonny. Ye’ll show more respect an’ apologise at once.’ Sonny, with bowed head, complied. ‘And,’ said his father, ‘what’s all this rubbish about being denied your pleasures? There’s no one says ye cannot do your painting in your spare time as usual. I’ve never stopped ye, have I?’

  ‘But yer don’t understand … I want to make a career of it.’

  ‘You’re damned right I don’t understand!’ barked Patrick, annoyed at his son’s persistence. ‘And I’m blowed if I’m going to try. Now, I’ve told ye, if ye want to spend all your free time painting that’s all well an’ good. But the rest of us are each contributing something to this business an’ tis only fair that you should too. I’ve been giving serious thought to the question of your education and I’ve decided that your talents should be given their due – which is not happening at your present establishment, fine though the Brothers are. So, ye’ll be going to another school, not art school, but a proper college where your brain will be put to full use. If your mother is set on making a go of this business then she’ll need someone with a bit of acumen to assist her.’ He glanced at Thomasin. ‘What you have in mind will take more running than the poky little shop does at present, it needs brains. I’m not saying I don’t think you’re able to handle it, Tommy …’

  Here, Hannah interjected caustically, ‘I should hope not, Patrick. I would have thought that a failed businessman is the last person to advise anyone how to run their affairs.’

  Patrick bypassed this sarcasm and continued to address Sonny. ‘It may mean your spending some time away from home: are ye willing?’

  Sonny directed his eyes at his brother to catch an amused twinkle. Still, if he could persuade Mam to talk his father into sending him not to just a business college but a school where there might be a generous quota of art instruction on the curriculum, he would consider himself to have fared a lot better than his siblings. He nodded his agreement to his father, and the atmosphere lightened somewhat.

  With the cake devoured and the ale almost depleted, there followed an hour of lightheartedness around the piano. After Hannah had exposed them to a slice of culture by expertly fingering some Mozart, it was the turn of Patrick and his daughter. With Thomasin at the keyboard, Erin sank to her knees, pawing at Patrick’s trousered leg with one hand, the other pressed to her brow in suitable melodrama, and sang:

  Oh, landlord I humbly beseech thee,

  Serve my father no more evil brew,

  Heed the plea of his poor abused daughter,

  Ere the blame for her death lies with you.

  ‘Most apt,’ murmured Hannah under her breath.

  Once Dickie and his brother had taken their turn, there was only William who had not performed, and since the monologue on which he embarked with gusto was turning out to be another of his shameful, homespun compositions, Hannah decided enough was enough and called a halt.

  ‘William, the hour is growing late.’ She consulted her fobwatch. ‘We had better make ready for home.’

  ‘Nay, I haven’t finished yet,’ he complained. ‘I’m just gerrin’ to best bit.�
�� Suddenly he clutched his chest and sat down; his face had turned quite grey. At once his family were around him voicing their concern. ‘It’s nowt. I’ll be all reet in a minute.’ He waved them away. ‘Just gimme some air.’

  ‘William, what is it?’ begged Hannah, flapping round him. ‘What ails you?’

  ‘Nowt. Don’t pother, woman! I just got this stabbin’ pain ’ere.’ He prodded his breastbone. ‘S’gone now, there’s nowt to fuss abaht.’

  ‘Shall I go for a doctor, Billy?’ said his son-in-law. ‘Ye don’t look at all well.’

  ‘Nay, I’m not havin’ no piss-prophet pokin’ round wi’ me. I’ve never been to one in me life an’ I don’t aim to start at my age. It’s nobbut a bit o’ wind – that cake musta been off.’

  ‘It tasted all right to me,’ said his daughter dubiously. ‘Dad, yer look awful. Please let us send for a doctor.’

  ‘Wilt tha stop natterin’!’ The colour was beginning to return to William’s face though he still breathed deeply and there was a slight tremble to his fingers. ‘I’ll be reet, I tell thee. Yer mother’ll put me to bed when we get home an’ I’ll be good as new in t’mornin’.’

  Hannah asked for their coats. ‘We’d better be on our way all the same. I don’t like the look of him one bit.’

  ‘Well, that’s nowt new,’ said William. ‘Eh, anybody’d think I were on me last legs.’ He attempted to divert attention from his discomfort. ‘Listen, we haven’t seen rest o’ house yet. What abaht back parlour? I like to get me full quota, tha knows.’

  Thomasin laid down the coats that she had fetched and shepherded everyone through the hall. ‘Very well, but just a quick look. Don’t think changin’ t’subject is gonna stop me packin’ you off home to bed.’

  ‘I don’t know who she reckons she’s talkin’ to,’ said William to Sonny, then leant on him. ‘’Ere, give us hand, lad.’ They moved with the others through to the back parlour. ‘Eh, tha’s a good’n. Happen I were a bit hard on yer before, I were just tekken aback, like. Doesta really want to spend tha life paintin’ pictures? Seems a queer occupation to me, but if that’s what tha’s set thy heart on I could have a word wi’ tha father. I can see t’grocery trade might not be everybody’s cuppa tea.’

  Sonny smiled his forgiveness as he assisted his grandfather through the doorway. ‘Thanks, Grandad but I wouldn’t risk it if I were you; ye saw how it affected Dad. If we keep natterin’ at him it might make him worse. No, I think I’ll just cut my losses an’ be thankful for what I’ve got.’

  William winked at him. ‘Good lad.’

  ‘You will have to employ a maid, Thomasin,’ said Hannah when they stood in the back parlour. She ran a finger along the marble mantelshelf. ‘If you insist on running the store personally then you will certainly need assistance with the upkeep of the house.’

  ‘Me, employ a maid?’ Thomasin laughed out loud. ‘Nay, our friends’ll think we’ve gone soft in t’head.’

  ‘Even with Erin’s help, dear, you could not hope to run such a large establishment unaided. You can be sure that your neighbours have a staff of at least three. I should have thought a maid would be the least you could allow yourself.’

  William was back to his old form now. ‘Oh aye, an’ yer’ll have to have thissen one o’ them varlets, Pat, to help thee put tha togs on. Eh, what next! Our Tommy wi’ servants.’

  ‘May I remind you that your other daughters employ staff, William,’ said his wife. ‘Please don’t make it sound like such a novelty to this family.’

  ‘How do I know what they’ve got? I never get bloody invited there,’ replied William strongly.

  ‘Nay, don’t let’s be going into all that,’ begged Thomasin, afraid that any discourse about her sisters might lead to a nasty argument, and that would do her father no good at all.

  ‘Esta gorra back yard?’ enquired William, running a handkerchief noisily under his nose.

  ‘A garden, Papa, if you please,’ quipped Thomasin pompously. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t serve tea on the lawn today, it’s over dark.’

  ‘Ee, short o’ nowt we’ve got!’ responded William, then pointed. ‘What’s through that door theer?’

  His daughter wrinkled her brow. ‘I can’t say as how I’ve had time to look.’

  ‘Well, tha should! I expect thee to keep me informed on such matters.’ He twisted the knob and threw open the door. There was a collective gasp as the family crowded round to admire the pièce de résistance – a water closet.

  ‘By God, that’s a gradely piece o’ work!’ claimed William, bending to scrutinise the necessity, and responded in his usual blunt fashion when Thomasin pulled the handle and a shower of water sluiced the bowl. ‘We’ll all be shadowin’ one another to t’closet to watch this. We won’t be able to call it privy any more – it’ll be about as private as a public hangin’ in ’ere.’

  They all laughed, even Hannah, as each eagerly awaited their turn to pull the handle. And then what they had thought to be the house’s crowning glory was eclipsed by Thomasin’s next discovery.

  ‘Eh, look at this!’ She reverently lifted a box from the lavatory floor and held it aloft for them all to see. ‘Real toilet tissue – now I know the Feeneys are really on the way up!’

  * * *

  Moving day came, though it was more a question of moving bodies than furniture. They would be taking one or two items with them, such as beds, but as Mr Penny’s furniture had far more class then theirs they were going to leave the latter where it stood and rent the old house as partly-furnished, thereby getting more rent than if it were unfurnished. Hence it was only necessary to make one journey, the cart they had hired carrying them and their possessions quite comfortably.

  Patrick was first to alight in Monkgate, helping Thomasin from her perch. The boys and Erin jumped down from the back and waited to be told what to carry and where to put it. Patrick went to unlock the front door.

  ‘Let’s have these crates off first,’ ordered Thomasin, ‘so we can get this fella paid, or we’re gonna run into another hour.’ The man and his cart had been hired by the hour.

  The family began to lift everything onto the pavement – beds and boxes, pictures and pans. With only a few seconds to spare the cart was finally evacuated and the driver, with a shrewd smile for Thomasin’s Yorkshire thrift, flicked the reins and pulled away.

  ‘Right,’ said Patrick, rubbing his hands. ‘It’d better be the beds in first or our neighbours’ll think we’re in the habit of sleepin’ on the pavement. Oh, I’m terribly sorry!’ He had stepped back and landed on someone’s foot. He now spun round fully to offer more apologies but was robbed of speech. The man’s grimace of pain had smoothed into an expression of recognition and shock … and something else.

  ‘Thomasin.’ Roland Cummings’ hand went to his hat which was slowly raised and lowered, his eyes fixed affectionately on the red-haired woman who had once been his mistress. ‘How … lovely to see you.’

  ‘Hello, Roland.’ Thomasin heard the words but couldn’t quite tell if they had emerged from her own mouth. Her skin prickled. She finally tore her eyes away. ‘Er, have yer met my husband? Pat, this is Mr Cummings, an old friend.’

  Roland held out his hand. Patrick ignored it, staring into the man’s face, intense dislike on his own.

  ‘An’ these are our sons an’… oh, yer know our daughter, don’t yer?’

  Roland, eyes still grappling defiantly with Patrick’s, now looked to where Erin stood holding a box. ‘Hello … Erin, isn’t it?’

  She smiled hesitantly and, with a snatched glance at her father, said, ‘Hello, Mr Cummings, Miss Caroline … Alice.’

  Thomasin noticed for the first time that Roland was not alone. Accompanying him was a young woman in a wheelchair, attended by a maid.

  ‘My daughter Caroline,’ Roland introduced her.

  Thomasin smiled politely, feeling a nerve twitching her lip. She dared not look at Patrick. She didn’t have to. Patrick, seizing the nearest crate, carried
it up to the front door of his new home with no word of excuse. The boys, having little interest in these people, followed.

  Erin approached the girl in the wheelchair with what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘I’m sorry to see you’re not in the best of health, Miss Caroline.’

  The ravishing young woman looked at her vacantly, staring so long that Erin was forced to look away uncomfortably and turn her attention to the maid who had control of the wheelchair. ‘Alice, how’re you keepin’?’

  Her old workmate nodded and smiled. ‘Not so bad, Erin. How’re you?’

  ‘Oh, can’t grumble.’ Erin looked at Caroline again.

  ‘You will have to forgive my daughter for her apparent unfriendliness,’ Roland told her kindly. ‘She has not been well since her mother died.’

  Erin nodded but did not look at him, her interest trained on the girl who appeared to be in a permanent trance. Once again, Erin was standing in the Cummings’ household, seeing the beautiful blonde girl work herself into a frenzy because her mother was about to send her best friend Erin away. The mother who, with the aid of one hysterical hand, had plunged to her death over the banisters: Caroline’s hand. The girl had obviously never recovered from that dreadful night.

  ‘I trust it won’t be long before you’re restored to full health, Miss Caroline,’ Erin said quietly then, with a look at her mother and a nod for Roland and Alice, she followed the others into the house.

  Roland looked at Alice, his unspoken order causing her to manoeuvre the wheelchair around the pile of the Feeneys’ belongings – having to go onto the road to do so – and carry on up the street.

  ‘My daughter will never be fully recovered, I fear,’ sighed Roland.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Thomasin genuinely. ‘Well, how’s old Roly been, then?’