‘What you doin’ ’ere, Irish?’
She turned her nose up at Ned Raper’s weasel-like face. ‘None of your business, stinky Raper.’
He drew his jacket sleeve across his running nose, leaving a yellow film on the coarse material which made her feel sick. ‘Yer gettin’ too clever, Irish. Yer mates aren’t ’ere to ’elp yer now.’
Erin’s face paled at the rashness of her words and she looked nervously about for someone to help her. If she was quick she might just be able to grab hold of Bridie’s door handle.
She made a sudden movement, but Ned anticipated her action and his arm went around her neck, squeezing the breath from her.
‘Let go, I can’t breathe,’ she gasped, stars swimming before her eyes. But her pleas went unheeded. ‘Not so cocky now, are yer?’ Ned half dragged, half carried her towards the abattoir and leaned his back against the unbolted doors which swung obligingly open. ‘I bet yer sorry yer called me names now, aren’t yer?’
‘Oh, I am, I am!’ Erin had realised what he was going to do. ‘Please, Ned, don’t take me in there! I’ll give ye anything ye want, here, I’ve got some sweeties in me pocket.’ She fumbled in her pinafore pocket and pulled out a crumpled bag of sweets and waved them in the air.
Ned snatched the sweets, keeping one arm around her neck then threw them on the ground. ‘Pah! I don’t want nuthin’ you’ve touched. Any road, yer wrong. I’m not takin’ yer in there.’ Erin let out a relieved sigh. ‘’Cause yer goin’ in on yer own!’ cackled Ned and giving her a mighty shove he slammed the doors shut behind her, making sure that she heard the bolt ram home.
There was the sound of his mischievous laughter for a moment, then all was quiet, save for Erin’s panting breath. She pressed her terrified face against the wooden doors, trying to peer between the gaps in the planking but was unable to ascertain if Ned was still outside. Then panic gripped her.
‘Let me out!’ she screamed. Then quieter, ‘Please, Ned, I’m sorry I said ye stink, ye don’t really. Let me out, they’re waiting for me at home.’
She waited for an answer, but none came and she turned her back to the doors peeping into the darkness through half-closed eyes. Even though the abattoir was not in use, the aura of past atrocities hung like an evil shroud all around her. Rows of steel hooks lined the gory walls, giant teeth bared in a maleficent snarl. Erin whimpered and tried to find another way out. Tiptoeing, shivering with fear, her back brushed against a dangling chain sending a noisy rattling around her prison. She began to cry; quiet sobs that seemed abnormally loud in the empty place. Someone would miss her, wouldn’t they? They were all waiting for her, they would wonder where she was, wouldn’t they? But what if they were too preoccupied with Dickie’s party to notice she was not there?
In answer to her questions, she suddenly heard the bolt being unfastened. Light streamed in, highlighting the crimson smudges on the walls and silhouetted in the doorway was a figure, a man.
‘Daddy?’
The door banged shut and the light was gone. She thought she was alone again, until the sound of stealthy footfalls advanced towards her. A funny, prickling sensation crept all over her body as she tried to see his face in the gloom. Backing away uncertainly, she suddenly found that she could go no further and her little hands felt the slimy coldness of the wall behind her as the man moved nearer.
The giddy relief made her legs buckle and she slid to the abattoir floor, for a chink of light had revealed his face. It was someone she knew, a friend.
‘Have ye come to rescue me?’ she asked, smiling uncertainly.
Without replying the man bent down and stroked her hair making her feel inexplicably afraid.
‘Come on, shall we go out now?’ She began to rise, but the man laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.
Slowly her smile dissolved. He was not going to let her go. A strange look had come to him; his eyes were all funny as he stood and towered over her. Then her feeling of terror returned tenfold as she watched his hand drop to his breeches and slowly begin to unfasten the buttons.
* * *
The guests sat drumming impatient fingers on the tablecloth.
‘Where on earth has that bairn got to?’ frowned Thomasin. ‘She’s been gone ages. Pat, will yer go see if yer can find her? All t’sandwiches’ll start curlin’ up at corners if we wait much longer.’
Excusing himself, Patrick slipped on his jacket and left the house. Trust Erin to hold up the festivities. She had probably done it on purpose just to spoil things for Thomasin. Well, she had done it once too often. She would have to have a damned good hiding to make her learn that her little displays of jealousy would be tolerated no longer.
He was still perusing these angry thoughts as he turned into Britannia Yard and immediately collided with a man who carried in his arms Patrick’s limp, white-faced child. All the recriminations vanished and his skin crawled with shock and fear as he stared at the pitiful waif in the other fellow’s arms.
‘What in God’s name are you doing with my daughter, Raper?’ The words were delivered quietly but with great potency.
Raper’s erubescence faded somewhat as he faced the trembling father.
‘I were bringing her home, Feeney. There’s been…’ he faltered and swallowed before proceeding ‘…a bit o’ trouble.’
Erin whimpered and reached out for her father who swiftly snatched her from the butcher and hugged her to his chest. No word had passed her lips, no greeting for her father. He feared the unspeakable.
The shade of his eyes altered with the pent-up rage that lay behind them. ‘Now, Raper,’ he fought to keep his voice steady, ‘I’m going to take this child home to her mother, an’ then I’m coming back to ask you what happened, an’ if I don’t get the right answers, if you’ve harmed her, Raper, if you’ve touched but one hair of her head…’
The butcher, mortally offended, broke in and lifted himself to his full height. ‘Now, wait a minute, Feeney! What sorta man d’yer think I am? I might hate your guts, but I’d not touch a little bairn like that. I know kids’re all frightened o’ me, an’ I might clip a few ear’oles now an’ then, but I’d never touch her… that way.’
The effect of his last words travelled all the way through Patrick’s body. ‘What d’ye mean “that way”?’
Raper stared at the pathetic mite, averting his piggy eyes from the Irishman’s face. ‘Well, I don’t know if I got there in time or…’
‘Tell me, Raper!’
Patrick’s fury jolted the butcher into relating the situation. Suspicious of his nephew’s odd behaviour when he had returned from the yard, Raper had questioned the boy.
‘I’ll bet yer’ve been in that slaughterhouse again, haven’t yer?’
Ned assumed a look of pure innocence. ‘Who me, Uncle Edwin? No, I been makin’ meself useful like yer told me to do.’
Disbelieving the boy’s protestations Raper had decided to take a look for himself. It would not do for them to start the killing and find that Ned had knotted all the chains together, or loosened the screws that held the hooks in place. On more than one occasion he had winched a carcase to the ceiling, only to have it miss his head by inches as the loosened hook gave under its weight and sent it crashing to the floor.
‘Just as I thought,’ he had nodded to himself on finding the doors unbarred. ‘Better just ’ave a look inside an’ see what that little get’s been up to.’
A startled face had turned to meet him and the crouching figure raised himself.
‘What the ’ell…?’ started Raper, then his eyes had fallen on the weeping child, her skirt thrown carelessly over her face exposing slender, naked limbs. Jos Leach’s erection had slowly wilted as the butcher advanced with fists upraised. ‘Yer bastard! Yer filthy, rotten little pillock!’
Total lack of understanding held Leach rooted to the spot. Raper was angry, but why, what had he done? Hadn’t he seen the butcher do the self same thing to Jos’s mother? Tell her he loved her and done things
to her, just like Jos loved Erin, loved her pretty face and the way she smiled at him. Why had she cried like that? He didn’t want to hurt her. His mother hadn’t cried. His blank expression turned to one of fear as Raper reached out for him and he cowered on the floor with his arms protecting his head, awaiting for the first blow. It never came.
‘Christ,’ spat Raper, placing his boot against the youth’s shoulder and sending him sprawling. ‘Yer don’t even know what yer’ve done, do yer?’ His fist dropped unused to his side and he let out a string of expletives to give vent to his anger. Then he turned to the girl, pulling down her skirts to cover her nakedness. Awkwardly he cradled her to him. Having little experience with children except to chastise them, he did not know how to comfort her. He dried her tears on his cuff. Fear and distrust looked out of the red-rimmed eyes and the child tried to pull away. ‘I’m not gonna hurt thee, young’n,’ he told her gruffly. ‘I know yer don’t like me but I’m not gonna hurt yer, honest. I’m gonna take yer ’ome that’s all.’
Picking her up he had cast a venomous glare at Leach before stepping outside and into the alleyway, where he had almost collided with Patrick.
Rage and impotence fought for position in Patrick’s mind. How could you punish a lunatic, who did not even know what he was being punished for? He glowered at the sky, cursing God, then brought his eyes down to Raper’s face. Ashamed now of his erroneous judgment of the butcher he offered his apologies and thanked the man for his intervention, hoping that Raper had arrived in time.
‘What’ll have to be done about…?’ He nodded towards the abattoir, unable to bring himself to foul his tongue with that despicable name.
Raper scratched his head. ‘He’ll ’ave to go to asylum I suppose, that’s where t’bugger belongs. I’ll see to that any road, he’s my responsibility. You get that bairn ’ome, she needs her mam.’
‘Come on, Erin,’ Patrick whispered against the white cheek. ‘Let’s get ye home. Tommy’ll know what to do.’
* * *
Thomasin had tired of waiting and the party was well under way with sounds of merry laughter escaping the house in Bay Horse Yard. But all sign of merriment fizzled out as Patrick violently kicked open the door and stood on the threshold bearing the molested child. Immediately he was enveloped in a press of concerned faces, all wanting to know what had befallen Erin.
‘Has she fallen?’ asked Thomasin, peering concernedly at Erin’s knees. ‘An’ where’s Bridie, isn’t she comin’?’
‘She never got to Bridie’s,’ replied Patrick levelly, then his voice cracked as Raper’s story tumbled from his lips. ‘Oh, Christ, Tommy,’ he cried after relating the facts to the horrified listeners. ‘Take her. Take her an’ see what the filthy bastard has done to her.’
Disbelievingly, Thomasin gazed at Leach’s victim in Patrick’s outstretched arms, at the angry bruise on her forehead, her face streaked with cow dung. ‘Oh, Pat, he’s not…?’
‘I don’t know!’ raged Patrick. ‘The poor little darlin’ can’t tell us, she won’t speak. She needs a woman! Please, Tommy, go take her somewhere an’ have a look at her, I’ve got to know.’
‘You hold her for a minute,’ ordered Thomasin, going towards the kitchen.
‘I’ll help you,’ shouted Hannah, but was restrained by William.
‘Tha’ll help most by keeping out of it,’ he told her firmly. ‘Bairn needs somebody who’s close to her.’
Hannah examined his face to see if there were any recrimination in it, for she knew that her treatment of Erin in the past had been far from grandmotherly and, now that she looked at the crumpled little form in Patrick’s arms, felt deeply ashamed and guilty. But William’s face showed no reproval, only the warm understanding that stems from being married to someone for many years. ‘You can make it up to her later’ the look said.
When Thomasin returned she gently lifted Erin and carried her into the kitchen where a steaming bath awaited. Softly singing a lullaby to the child she began to peel off the dung-caked dress, as she did so, praying silently – Please, please don’t let her be hurt. She then performed a discreet examination of the mud-streaked thighs, steeling herself for what she might find, but after a few seconds let out a great sigh of relief. There was no blood, no sign of violation. The butcher had got there in time. If Raper had been in the kitchen at that moment she would have thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him, such was her relief.
She placed Erin carefully in the bath, wringing out a rag and wiping away the filth of the abattoir. ‘There, there, darlin’!’ She held the black curls away from the bruised forehead and kissed it gently. ‘You’re safe now. The man won’t hurt yer any more, I won’t let him.’
Erin closed her dazed eyes and her little body shook with emotion as the tears rolled down her face, dripping from her chin into the bathwater. Thomasin suddenly found that she was crying, too. Noisy sobs of thankfulness broke from her lips as she felt two, wet little arms grip her tightly around the neck, making her revise her opinion about the benevolence of the deity she had hitherto denied. There must after all be a God, or someone who watched over and protected them for here in her arms was the evidence as the child broke her silence.
‘Mammy,’ she wept. ‘Oh, Mammy!’
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-six
‘Easy as shellin’ peas!’ smiled Thomasin, looking down at the red, squawking bundle in her arms. The birth had been a relatively quick one, with the minimum of pain. Unlike last time, she had been able to potter about the house, involving herself with light tasks, until the second stage of labour was imminent. Then, no sooner, it seemed, than she had lain upon the bed, son number two made his swift arrival into the world.
Hannah, cheated over the birth of Thomasin’s first child, had subjected them to daily visits as the birth date had grown nearer. But Thomasin had insisted that Molly act as midwife, so Hannah had to content herself with a supervisory position, one in which she excelled.
‘Well,’ she beamed, as though the responsibility of producing the new infant had been solely hers. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’
Molly rolled her eyes at Thomasin as she wrapped the placenta and membranes in the accouchement sheet and went downstairs to dispose of them.
Thomasin smiled and, tucking her hand into her nightgown, pulled out a breast and offered it to the baby. A spark of interest flickered in the wrinkled features as the warm skin touched his cheek.
‘Away, lazy.’ Thomasin stroked the downy skin, trying to coax him to accept the nipple.
Hannah watched them with satisfaction. ‘Now, you cannot deny that this one takes after his mother. Just look at that hair.’
Thomasin had to agree. ‘Aye, proper little carrot top, isn’t he?’
The baby finally grasped what was expected of him and attached himself firmly to his mother.
‘There’s a good boy.’ Thomasin looked up at Hannah. ‘Yer’d best let ’em in now, Mother.’
Hannah appeared to be shocked. ‘But surely not while you are feeding him?’
‘Nay, don’t be daft,’ replied Thomasin amusedly. ‘Go on, let ’em in, poor Pat’s got a right to see his son, yer know.’
Hannah cleared her throat to register her disapproval and went to admit the rest of the family. Patrick’s attempts to attend the birth of his second son had been sadly thwarted; Hannah had never heard anything quite so disgraceful as a man being present at a birth. The very idea.
‘Now you can’t stay long,’ she informed Patrick and the children, shepherding them into the room. ‘She’s got to have her rest.’
Patrick stooped to kiss his wife and admire his new son. ‘Jazers, look at that hair!’ He laughed and fingered the baby’s cheek. ‘We’ll have a right time with him when he gets a bit bigger. As if it’s not bad enough having one hothead in the house.’
‘Eh, you’re not so calm an’ collected yerself,’ objected Thomasin, changing the baby to the other side. She craned her head past her husband.
‘Where’s that pal o’ yours then?’
Hannah provided the answer. ‘I told him to wait downstairs until the family had met the baby.’
Thomasin was exasperated. ‘What a rotten thing to say! You might not consider it so but John is part of this family and he’s every right to see t’bairn. What’s up, did yer think his face’d curdle t’milk or summat?’ She buttoned up her bodice, glaring at her mother. ‘Anyway, I’ve finished now so yer can show him up.’
Hannah unwillingly complied and brought John to join the family gathering.
‘But don’t stay too long, mind.’
‘Mother, he’s only just got ’ere,’ said Thomasin, indicating for John to sit on the bed alongside Patrick. ‘It’s safe to leave me with him, yer know. ’E’ll not attack me.’
Her mother reddened. ‘I did not for one moment suggest he would.’ She gave John a half-smile which passed for an apology. ‘Well, I think I shall go and help Mrs Flaherty to make the tea.’ She disappeared.
Thomasin giggled. ‘Poor Molly. Me mother’s been drivin’ her mad with her orderin’ an’ delegatin’, makin’ sure she washes her hands every five minutes. I’ll bet Molly’s hands’ve never seen so much soap in all their lives.’
John stroked the baby’s cheek with a rough finger. ‘Nah then, who’ve we got ’ere?’
‘This,’ said Thomasin proudly, to both John and her husband, ‘Is John Patrick Feeney, named after his favourite uncle an’ his father.’ Neither she nor Patrick had decided on a name prior to the birth but as Thomasin had watched the two men sit side by side, one so handsome, the other cruelly mutilated, she knew there could be no other choice.
A shadow passed over John’s face as he thought of his own children. Where might they be now? He had thought to find out where his wife had taken them but then dismissed the idea. What could he possibly have left to offer them? He stared down at the baby, reliving the moment when he had held his own son for the first time, how proud he had been. Normally unemotional, John was taken aback to find his throat constricted with sadness, making him unable to voice his thanks for the honour bestowed on him. Finally he took a deep breath and said, with a lightness he did not feel, ‘To be hoped he doesn’t take after his Uncle John, Tommy, or you an’ me are gonna have some explainin’ to do.’ Then grinned at Patrick to make sure that his fiery-tempered friend knew it for a jest. ‘But thanks for namin’ him after me, it were a right kind thought.’
A Long Way from Heaven Page 26
