For My Brother’s Sins

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

  ‘Ah, will ye shut your gob,’ he grumbled unconcernedly. ‘I can’t be doin’ with all this blatherin’ of a mornin’.’

  ‘You think I’m bluffing, but I’ll do it!’

  He spoke with strained patience. ‘An’ what will ye say when I tell the Constable you’re my accomplice?’ He nodded at her shocked face. ‘Now, will ye stop your ranting an’ go do something useful like finding us some food.’ He slouched up to the font and splashed icy water onto his face, dabbing it dry with the priest’s robes. He glanced at her incredulous stare. ‘Well, can ye get me something to fill me stomach or not? I’ve not had a bite past me lips since yesterday morning. Or are ye going to be as uncooperative in that quarter as ye were in the other?’

  She blushed deeply. He smiled then and walked up to her. Gripping her arms he planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Well?’

  She wriggled free. ‘Have you no sense of propriety? We are in the house of God, yer know. I can’t think what possessed me to linger here with such a rogue. I should’ve departed hours ago.’

  ‘Then why didn’t ye? Nobody’s stopping ye. I’ll tell ye why ye didn’t go: because ye found my company so irresistible ye couldn’t bear to leave it.’

  ‘Ooh, you’re insufferable!’

  ‘I’m also hungry – now do I get some breakfast or don’t I?’

  She glared at him. What a pompous oaf to suggest it was his presence that kept her here, and totally wrong of course. It was not his self-supposed magic that held her but the fact that last night she had crept into this hiding-place and now dared not leave it. She had decided when she had met him last night that though she found his company obnoxious it was better than no company at all. The streets were no safe place for a girl on her own – though the sanctuary offered by the church had not been much safer. However, he was obviously not an out-and-out rogue; a big man like him could have ravished her with ease if he had been so disposed. She looked at him. He was smiling. If he were not such a lout there was no denying that he was extremely handsome – unbearably so, thought Sally. She wondered where he had really got that wound on his head; probably from some irate husband or father. She supposed he had all the girls eating out of his hand, the little fools. Sally had more sense than that. The sort of companionship he was offering was the very reason she had absconded from her previous employment as a potwench. She was heartily sick of the pawing and nipping that went on in that smoke-filled prison and having to work like a slave for a wage that would not keep a mouse alive. Last night, when a drunken customer had broken into her room she had decided it was time to make her break. Filling her apron with as much food as she dare take, plus a bottle of wine, she had climbed out of the window, skimmed across a couple of low rooftops and shinned down a drainpipe. What lay ahead she could only guess, but she was going to put herself up for hire at the Martinmas Fair today. She began to pull at the knot in her apron. Her fingers were mauve, the nails white and deathlike.

  ‘What are ye scratting about at now, woman?’ demanded a ravenous Dickie.

  ‘Yer want summat to eat, don’t yer?’ she retorted sharply.

  Swiftly he snatched her bundle and began tearing at the knot.

  ‘Careful! Yer’ll have it all over t’deck.’

  He unfastened the apron and spread it on the floor. Inside were two small loaves sprinkled with seeds, a slice of meat pie, two capon wings, an apple and two honey cakes. Dickie set upon one of the loaves, ripping it between his large hands. ‘I suppose ye didn’t think to bring any butter?’

  She had to laugh at this audacity. ‘Pardon me! If I’d known I was going to dine with a gentleman I would’ve brought the roast swan.’ He was now biting into the meat pie. She grabbed the other loaf and a capon wing before they went the same way.

  After they had feasted she pulled out the bottle of wine from under a pew and offered it to him. ‘My, but you’re a real handy sort to have around.’ He took a long pull at the bottle, then passed it back. ‘Beautiful eyes ye’ve got,’ he added matter-of-factly.

  ‘Have I?’ She raised a hand to her face, wonderingly.

  ‘Has no one ever told ye before? I’m surprised. Now, would ye like to tell me how come I have the pleasure o’ such dainty female company?’

  To her own incredulity she found herself telling him not only the story of her escape from the tavern but her whole life story. Perhaps, she decided, she did like him after all. She had been annoyed at his bestial approaches last night, but now, with the thin strands of morning striking his face with the colours of the stained-glass windows, added to the compliments he had begun to pay her, she quickly warmed to this rogue. She asked him how he had happened to be dressed in clergyman’s garb.

  ‘Well, I’m in a similar position to your sweet self,’ he reflected sadly. ‘I came to York to put meself up at the Statties. Me mother died, ye see, leavin’ me to fall back on my uncle’s mercy. She left the house to him in the hope that he’d care for me. But, him bein’ the old skinflint that he is, chucked me out on the streets. Gave me a good beating too, so’s I wouldn’t go back – that’s how I got this.’ He touched his brow. ‘Well, I know it was wrong but I snuck in here an’ borrowed the priest’s clothes. I thought he’d rather have me do that than have a frozen corpse on his hands.’

  Sally was horrified. ‘Didn’t yer uncle even give yer money for food?’

  ‘If he had d’ye think I’d be relyin’ on your handouts? No, he’s a hard cruel man is Uncle.’ He sighed melodramatically.

  ‘Haven’t yer any other family? What about yer father?’

  ‘I never knew him,’ he replied tragically. ‘I hope ye aren’t shocked by that. ’Twasn’t Mother’s fault; she was taken advantage of. She did marry later but her husband, my brother an’ sister all perished in a fire some years ago, and the youngest only three years old. I think that’s what kilt poor old Mother in the end, the heartbreak.’ He covered his face with his hand.

  She thrust the wine bottle at him. ‘Oh, don’t distress yourself so! Have another drink, it’ll soothe your pain.’ She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder and he snuggled up to her, laughing heartily inside. ‘We’ll stick together, you an’ me,’ she promised. ‘At least ’til we get ourselves a job. I’ve got no one I can turn to, either.’

  After returning the vestments to their rightful place Dickie spared a covetous glance for the trunk of precious metal then followed Sally outside. The elegant cupola that crowned the church was shrouded in November mist. Nearby, in the Shambles, the butchers had started to display their wares on the hooks outside their poky medieval shops. In the summer this quaint street abounded with flies; today the meat went unmolested.

  Sally answered Dickie’s lament that he did not even have tuppence to buy a pipe by crossing the road to a tobacconist’s where she spent the last of her money on a clay pipe and a plug of tobacco. Dickie hovered outside a woollen merchant’s, wondering what occupation he could lay claim to at the Hirings. It was customary for shepherds to wear a piece of fleece in their hats or for workmen to carry their implements so that a prospective employer could see at a glance what he was getting without having to waste time asking each one. What could Dickie display? He was unversed in any skill – at least the sort that employers would be after. However, he could cope quite well with horses now, and though he would never succeed as an ostler would pass as a competent stable lad or carriage driver.

  He watched Sally trip back across the road as the grey streets began to come alive. What was she going to hire herself out as – a maid of all work? He examined his own clothes. Even without his topcoat he looked a darned sight smarter than any of the country bumpkins who were making their way into Parliament Street just around the corner, where the Hirings were to be held. Maybe he could pass for a gentleman’s valet or something equally worthy.

  ‘Ah, God love ye, Sally!’ He bent his face to her cheek as she handed him the pipe. ‘Ye know I’ve been thinkin’: perhaps we might get ourselves employed at the same place –
you as maid, me as groom. If so then I can repay your kindness out o’ me first wages.’

  She smiled enthusiastically. ‘That’d be nice, Dickie – working together I mean.’ How extraordinary; last night she had found him repulsive but today when she looked at him she felt all warm and excited at her future.

  They made their way with the burgeoning throng into Parliament Street where young men and girls were already being driven away by their new masters. The long street was packed with carriages and delivery wagons, gaitered farmers who toured the rows of apprehensive labourers looking for a good strong lad, men in leather aprons trying to make their deliveries, jostling their handcarts between the bartering participants. It was busy enough now but in an hour or so there would be twice or three times as many people. It would be a near-impossibility to drive a carriage between them, and the invariable sideshows that accompanied these proceedings.

  In the thick of the crowd now and keeping a firm hold on Sally, Dickie eyed the poor peasants disdainfully. What a fall in status he thought dismally – me, who was going to be rich. Ah well, I suppose this’ll not be forever, I’m only a young man. There’s still time to make that fortune.

  An hour passed and still he had not found a position. He had stolen a whip from a parked carriage in the hope of advertising his profession but it did not seem to bring him any luck. He began to be irked by these ignorant yokels who did not know a good thing when they saw one, saying they wanted no flash coves in their employ. His irritation was tinged with a soupçon of fear. The longer he stood here, the more likely the chance of someone coming along who knew him.

  Sally had received a dozen offers and had declined them all on account of him. She would wait, she said, until they were both offered a position at the same place. God willing that would not be too long. She stamped her feet. The soles of her slippers drew the Arctic conditions like a magnet and inside them, her toes were pinched and tingling. She hugged her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Only her red nose showed beneath the voluminous hood.

  ‘I’ll not stand for this much longer,’ declared Dickie. There had been but one offer for his services, and even that had been withdrawn on hearing his Irish accent.

  He was blowing on his hands and rubbing them together when a shifty-looking character caught his interest. The man was ogling a group of hopeful maids a short distance away. Dickie noticed as he approached them that each girl would shake her head. He watched alertly and slowly an idea began to form itself.

  He suddenly turned to Sally. ‘Look, I know we said we’d like to get a place together, but it looks like I’m being a burden to ye. No one wants to employ an Irishman, so if ye stick with me ye’ll never get a job. I say, the next person that asks ye to go with them ye must take your chance. We could be standing here till next week if not.’

  ‘But what about you?’ she enquired worriedly, having no wish to leave her handsome partner now.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I always land on me feet,’ he promised. ‘But I’ll not have you standing here in this climate after ye’ve been so good to me.’ At the very instant he spoke yet another person approached Sally. It must be her honest appearance, thought Dickie acidly.

  She turned the job down. ‘I’ll wait,’ she replied obstinately, and the man moved on.

  ‘Look, ye can’t go on like this.’ Dickie bounced up and down on the spot to boost his circulation. ‘Tell ye what, I’ll do a bit o’ touting meself, it’ll do more good than stood here like a couple of icicles. That seems a smart-lookin’ fella over there.’ He pointed to the man he had been watching a few minutes earlier. ‘Will I go over an’ ask if he’s got a job for the pair of us? If I put on me best Yorkshire twang I think I can fix it.’

  Sally was dubious. ‘I don’t like the look of him somehow. There’s summat about him. He might be a villain.’

  ‘Sure the cold’s gone to your head! How can ye tell what he is when ye’ve never even spoken to the fella? I expected a more enlightened answer from a charitable person like yourself.’ He saw her weaken. ‘Let me try him at least,’ he pressed. ‘It’s all right for you being choosey but I’m going to die if I stand here much longer.’

  She was at once apologetic. ‘Oh, I’m so selfish. I didn’t spare a thought for you. You must be absolutely frozen with no coat. Go on then, ask him if yer like. It can’t do no harm.’

  ‘Good. If ye see me give this signal,’ he held up crossed fingers, ‘then ye’ll know I’ve worked it. All right?’

  Sally watched him force his way through the crowd towards the shifty-looking man. When he arrived he touched a finger to his forelock and inclined his head towards the man’s ear. She tried to make out what he was saying, but Dickie’s face was turned away from her. After some confabulation he sought her out with his eyes then held his fingers aloft in the specified signal. She primed herself, pulled her cloak tighter and struggled through the swelling ranks, being rudely pushed this way and that.

  She paused to stand on tiptoe in order to see if she was moving in the right direction. There was the man waiting for her, but Dickie had momentarily disappeared. He must be somewhere near, though. She pressed on, finally reaching the place where he ought to be; but he wasn’t. She looked startled as the man took her hand and threaded it through the hook of his arm. ‘Where’s Dickie?’

  ‘Who? Oh, he’s gone, has me laddo.’ The man put his face close to hers, his reasty breath making her draw back. ‘Away then, let’s be off. Can’t tarry here all day, we’ve a long way to go.’

  Tm not going anywhere without Dickie!’ She shook him off, the panic rising, and tried to escape into the crowd, but it was too closely packed. He dashed after her and grabbed her cruelly, his eyes hard. ‘What the hell d’yer think you’re at?’

  ‘I don’t want to come with you!’ She tried to wriggle free, twisting and turning in his brutal grip. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Nay, too late for that, m’dear,’ he informed her bluntly. ‘I’ve just paid seven bob for thee.’

  Chapter Forty

  At this moment, Sally was the furthest person from Dickie’s mind. After leaving her to her fate he had bought himself a second-hand topcoat and a bag of hot chestnuts and positioned himself at the far end of Parliament Street under the market bell, where he had shortly been approached by a man. Spotting the whip under Dickie’s arm the man had asked if he was for hire. It transpired that the fellow’s coachman had been taken ill and was unable to drive his master back to Leeds.

  Though the elegant carriage and four greys were a little different from a horse and cart, Dickie had welcomed the chance to escape the marketplace, and was now rolling down the Mount towards Tadcaster Road feeling pretty smug at the way he was coping with the job. There was not much more to this than driving one nag.

  ‘Whip them up, man!’ bawled his passenger, Rycroft. ‘We’ll never reach Dringhouses at this rate.’

  Before long they were out in open country. Dickie slapped the reins and the horses increased their speed, silver manes flowing over the lovingly-polished harness. Dickie grew over-confident and his mind began to wander. He thought of Dusty, of her dear laughing face, of her gentle bossing. What sort of marriage would theirs have been, he wondered. He felt her wild, springy hair in his fingers, her breath against his cheek, baby-sweet. Oh, Dusty! There was a frightened whinny and one of the lead horses started to jump and buck in the traces. The rabbit which had caused it to shy vanished into the opposite hedgerow and the horse set off at full pelt, dragging its partners with it.

  ‘Whoa!’ Dickie hauled on the reins, bracing his boots against the footrest whilst trying to keep his balance. But this wasn’t old Polly he was dealing with. The highly-strung greys, all four infected by the panic now, plunged down the narrow road at breakneck speed, totally ignoring his invocations.

  ‘What the devil’s going on?’ shouted Rycroft, bouncing about inside the carriage. ‘I meant to get there in one piece.’

  Dickie heaved and cursed, but t
he horses charged on. They were coming up to a stiff bend. ‘Stop! For Christ’s sake, stop!’ Dickie yelled and applied all his strength to the reins. The horses took the corner, but the carriage didn’t. It careered, broadside on, its wheels shooting sparks, teetered for a couple of seconds, then crashed over onto its side, wheels still spinning.

  Dickie was flung clear and landed in a frozen ditch. The horses galloped on up the road, dragging after them the clanking carriage shaft. Then, having run out their panic they stopped to nose at the frosty verge, their nervous sweat manifesting itself in great steaming clouds on the cold air.

  Dickie dragged himself from the ditch in time to see his dazed passenger emerging from the upturned carriage, and began to walk towards him. ‘Are ye all right, sir?’

  Rycroft looked as if he were about to commit murder. He strode to meet Dickie, stooping to pick up the fallen whip on the way. ‘You damned imbecile! I thought you said you could handle them.’

  ‘Sure, it wasn’t my fault.’ Dickie rubbed at his bruised shoulder. ‘’Twas a rabbit what scared the horses.’

  Rycroft advanced on him swinging the whip and beating him about the head and shoulders. ‘Numskull! Dolt! Ninny! Buffoon! How am I going to get home now? Look! Look at my carriage. I might have known something like this would come of hiring a damnfool Irishman. You’re all the same – incompetent, addlebrained shirkers.’ He beat time with the whip on Dickie’s bent spine, then stepped back, panting. ‘There’s a farmhouse over there.’ He pointed across a field. ‘Go there and fetch all available hands forthwith and ropes with which to right the carriage.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Dickie, and risked a glance from his crouched position. ‘About my fee …’

  ‘What!’ The man laid into him again. ‘You have the audacity to mention a fee for ruining my carriage? Get you gone before you forfeit more than your fee!’