A Long Way from Heaven

by A Long Way from Heaven (retail) (epub)

  Erin looked from her father’s angry face to her grandmother’s unrepentant one, then slowly turned and crept up the stairs. Poor Daddy, why did Grandmother hate him so?

  ‘Come in, lass,’ said Thomasin as the child peeped into the bedroom. ‘How did it go?’ Erin told her all about the evening, repeating the statement she had made downstairs. ‘Bless yer,’ her stepmother raised a smile, ‘but I don’t reckon I could hold a candle to the ragman’s horse just now.’

  Erin replied that this was only because Thomasin had been ill, then held out her hand. ‘I hoped this might make ye feel better.’

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Thomasin, staring at the coins on her palm.

  ‘That’s me wages.’ The pride on the young face radiated the dull room.

  The stingy devils, thought Thomasin. Still, Erin was obviously pleased with her gains. She smiled and folded the coins back into the girl’s hand. ‘That belongs to you, Erin, you earned it. Buy summat nice for yourself.’

  Erin’s face fell. ‘But I want you to have it.’

  Thomasin stared at the downcast face, then abruptly broke down. ‘Oh, you are a good lass!’ she sobbed, putting her arms round Erin who hugged her back. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so maungy these past couple o’ days. I don’t know what y’all must think o’ me.’

  ‘Oh, Mam,’ soothed Erin. ‘I explained to the boys and they understand that you’re only sad ’cause the baby isn’t coming any more. They’ve been quite good really.’

  ‘By, you’re growin’ up,’ breathed Thomasin, shaking her head. ‘An’ what about you, how’ve you been copin’?’

  ‘Fine enough,’ replied Erin, then bit her lip. ‘I was a bit scared at first. When I saw all the blood I thought…’

  ‘Yer thought I were gonna die?’ said Thomasin gently. The girl nodded, then burst into tears. ‘You’re not, are ye?’ she wept into Thomasin’s shoulder.

  ‘Ee, lass, yer’ve been bottlin’ all this up, haven’t yer?’ Thomasin wiped the child’s eyes on the sheet. ‘I bet yer never said a word to nobody.’

  Erin gave a great sniff. ‘I didn’t like to say anything to Daddy, but I could tell he was thinkin’ the same’s me.’

  ‘Aye well, yer needn’t worry any more, I’ll not be leavin’ yer, love.’ Thomasin patted her head. ‘I take some gettin’ rid of, yer know.’

  Erin gave a sniffly laugh and hugged her again. ‘Oh, Mam, I do love ye.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Patrick’s return to the church passed without comment from Thomasin, who had no need to ask his reasons for doing so. That he had enrolled her sons into the Catholic faith without consulting her instigated no wrath, on the contrary she was glad that he had at last come to terms with himself after so many years of inner struggle and though not committing herself in any way had dutifully accompanied him and their children to this evening’s Mass.

  Their return was marked by a torrential downpour which sent them scuttling – children laughing and shrieking, adults complaining – for the cover of the alleyway into Bay Horse Yard. When the rain had eased a little they made the last few yards’ dash across the court and into the house.

  ‘Merciful Mary, what a filthy night.’ Patrick slammed the door on the heavens’ distress. ‘Let’s have that fire stoked so’s ye can get the kettle on, Tommy.’

  His wife gave priority to relieving the children of their damp garments, rubbing each glistening head briskly with a towel, pulling off boots and stuffing them with newspaper, before placing the kettle over the renewed blaze. Fifteen minutes later each sat round the hearth clutching a cup of hot cocoa with burnished cheeks and glowing eyes.

  Patrick balanced his cup on the fender and stood to reach for a pipe off the mantelshelf. In passing, his hand came to rest on the cocoa tin which held their savings and he rattled it appreciatively. ‘Sounds nice, does it not?’ He smiled at his wife.

  She had to agree. Though the doctor and nurse’s fees had savaged their reserves somewhat, the quantity of sovereigns continued to grow steadily.

  ‘Aye, I reckon it were best thing that ever ’appened to us, you gettin’ finished from Baxter’s. That tin’s never been so heavy since it held cocoa.’

  Patrick clamped his teeth round a pipe and applied a flame to it. ‘If we go on like this we’ll soon be able to think of moving to somewhere better. Have ye put your mind to where ye might like to live?’

  Her eyes smiled over the cup. ‘Anywhere you’d like to take me – Dunworthe Hall perhaps.’

  ‘No, I’m serious.’ He reseated himself to sprawl his long legs over the hearth rug. ‘There’s enough in there to take us somewhere really nice.’ He nodded towards his elder son. ‘An’ we’ll maybe think about sending Dickie to school.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to no school,’ replied Dickie, wiping the ring of cocoa from his mouth.

  ‘’Course ye do,’ said his father through volumes of smoke. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to go to a proper school. I had to make do with what the parish priest could teach me an’ though he was a clever man it didn’t stretch the brain like a proper school would’ve.’

  ‘I’ll not like it,’ repeated Dickie cussedly.

  ‘Sure, how d’ye know if ye’ve never been? D’ye not want to learn to read an’ write?’

  The youngster shook his handsome head.

  ‘An’ how d’ye propose to get through life if ye cannot put your name to anything?’ asked his father. ‘There’re people that’ll always be ready to take advantage of a numskull.’

  ‘Uncle John cannot read nor write very good,’ countered his son, ‘an’ he don’t let anybody take ’vantage of him. He’s clever, is Uncle John.’

  ‘Aye, too clever for his own good sometimes,’ muttered Patrick. ‘An’ if you’re thinking to follow in your Uncle John’s footsteps then think again. You’re going to school, whether ye like it or not!’

  ‘Why do I have to go?’ Dickie persisted. ‘Why not one o’ the others?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ offered Erin eagerly.

  ‘Ah, don’t talk such nonsense, Erin,’ said Patrick, careless of her feelings. ‘You’re a girl, what use would there be in your going to school? Why, in a few years’ time ye’ll be thinking o’ marrying. A complete waste o’ time it’d be.’

  ‘Nay, don’t be marryin’ t’lass off just yet,’ said Thomasin wiggling her numbed toes on the fender. ‘It’s no fun tending to four men on me own. An’ any road, what’s wrong with her wantin’ to learn, might I ask? She might not want to get married, she mebbe wants to do more with her life.’

  ‘Be one o’ them blue stockings, ye mean?’ Patrick’s pipe fell from his open mouth and he brushed the hot ashes hurriedly from his lap. ‘God forbid that any daughter o’ mine should get mixed up with that sorta rubbish, she’d not set foot in the house again.’ He replaced his pipe. ‘Don’t misunderstand; I’m not against her learning to read an’ write, in fact I’m all for it, but she doesn’t have to go to school to learn how to do that. I’ve seen to it that she knows enough to get her through life and anything else’d be, like I said, a waste o’ time.’

  ‘So now yer know,’ pronounced Thomasin to a downcast Erin, who had great difficulty in hiding her bitter disappointment. Why on earth should he consider education a waste of time just because she was a girl?

  Thomasin had already turned away and was speaking to her youngest. ‘What about you, Sonny? How d’you feel about school?’

  Sonny was all for it and had to be restrained from preparing himself immediately. ‘Nay, yer a bit young yet, love.’ Thomasin put her arm round him and kissed his coppery head. ‘Next year, mebbe. I don’t want to part wi’ my baby yet a while.’

  He pushed her off. ‘I’m not a baby.’

  ‘No, of course yer not. I’m sorry, it’s just that if you all go off to school who’ll I have left to sneak biscuits when me back’s turned?’ She rose suddenly. ‘Anyway, come on now, it’s time for bed.’ There was a hail of objections.

  ‘Aw,
Mam, can we not stay up till Uncle John comes in?’ begged Erin.

  ‘Aye, we haven’t had us story yet,’ piped up Sonny.

  ‘Your Daddy’ll tell you a story,’ answered Thomasin.

  ‘But we like Uncle John’s stories best,’ complained Dickie, dragging at his mother’s arm, hampering her journey to the stairs.

  ‘’Tis nice to know you’re wanted,’ grumbled Patrick lazily.

  ‘Oh, we like yours, Daddy, but Uncle John’s are, well…’ Dickie sought for a word.

  ‘Now let me hazard a guess,’ replied his mother. ‘More interestin’? Aye, there’s a lot o’ folks’d be interested in Uncle John’s outpourings, specially them what wears blue helmets an’ carry big sticks. Lord knows what he’s teachin’ ’em,’ she added to Patrick.

  She had all but dragged the children to the stairs when the door crashed open and the children cried in unison, ‘Uncle John!’ Though how they knew it was John was indeterminable, for the only recognisable thing about him was the one eye which gleamed from a mud-caked face.

  ‘Come away!’ shrieked Thomasin as they clustered round him. ‘I’ve just got you lot dried. God in Heaven, John, whatever ’ave yer been up to now? Yer look as if yer’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’

  ‘In a matter o’ speakin’ I ’ave,’ replied John, flicking back his hair and spraying them all with rainwater. He unhooked his haversack and let it fall. ‘Eh, come on, young ’uns.’ He fought his way to the fireplace. ‘Let’s get me bum warm.’ He pulled off his boots and was about to place them in the hearth when Thomasin objected.

  ‘Not there, that’s just been polished! Put ’em over near door, an’ before yer settle yerself yer can get them filthy wet clothes off. I’m not ’avin’ me new chairs darted up. Look at that puddle yer’ve made already!’

  John held out his hands beseechingly to Patrick. ‘If she’s like this now what’s she gonna be like when yer get this fine ’ouse yer allus on about? Can’t I just put a bit o’ newspaper on chair, Tommy? Just while I say goodnight to these bairns an’ get meself warm. I’m bloody saturated.’

  Thomasin grudgingly conceded and the children thronged around him once more wanting to know if he had a tale to tell them.

  ‘I’d be interested to hear it an’ all,’ said Thomasin, folding her arms. ‘I think you were gonna tell us ’ow yer got so blathered up, weren’t yer?’ She fingered his jacket in disgust.

  ‘I thought I just did,’ said John with a wink at the children. ‘I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’

  ‘Very funny,’ threatened Thomasin.

  ‘It’s right! Well, a bramble bush to be precise, eh, an’ d’yer know, you lads?’ He poked Sonny and Dickie in the midriffs making them double over giggling. ‘I’ve gone an’ lost me ferrets. Would yer believe it? Damned good breeder one of ’em was an’ all.’

  ‘Enough of the biology lesson,’ said Thomasin going to pick up his haversack where he had dropped it. ‘An’ if yer’ve lost yer ferrets what ’ave yer got in this bag? It feels awful plump.’

  ‘Open it an’ see.’

  ‘Is it likely to leap out at me?’ enquired Thomasin.

  ‘Try yer luck,’ grinned John wickedly. ‘Yer never know what yer might find.’

  Thomasin’s caution was overthrown by her inquisitiveness and tentatively she unbuckled the strap, expecting some vicious creature to take a lump out of her at any minute. When nothing untoward happened she explored further, gingerly folding back the flap and pulling the bag open, then screamed as something brightly-coloured sprang out at her.

  ‘Yer daft ’aporth,’ snorted John, catching the bag as she flung it at him and impatiently delved into the haversack. ‘Don’t yer know what these are?’

  ‘Pheasants!’ squealed Thomasin, clapping her hands delightedly as he pulled forth his booty.

  ‘Aye, yer soft devil. It were only tails that uncoiled an’ made yer jump. I ’ad to fold ’em over so’s nobody saw ’em. Well, yer said yer were gerrin’ sick o’ rabbits didn’t yer?’

  Patrick took his pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem at his friend. ‘Ye’ve been poaching, John,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Me, poachin’? As if I would.’ John’s attempt at innocence was contradicted by his knavish appearance. ‘It’s right!’ he said defensively, seeing their scepticism. ‘Yer see, I went up to t’Moor as usual, undid me bag to get ferrets out, then I got taken short an’ had to go behind t’hedge. Any road, I must’ve forgotten to fasten t’bag ’cause when I turned round little… demons were nowhere to be seen.’ He rubbed his hand over his mutilated face and stared pensively at the dirt which came off on his palm. ‘Anyhow, I thought, I daren’t go ’ome emptyhanded ’cause Tommy’ll kill us, so I ’ad a nosey round an’ came up wi’ them.’ He nodded at the pheasants.

  Thomasin leaned back against the table and said with a distrustful smirk born of familiarity, ‘I suppose yer gonna tell us now that yer found ’em lyin’ by t’roadside?’

  ‘How did yer guess?’ marvelled John. ‘There they were, just waitin’ for somebody to pick ’em up.’

  ‘Enough of your lies!’ cut in Patrick. ‘Ye’ve poached them from Lord Herleigh’s estate, haven’t ye?’

  ‘Now how could I do that when I never went out equipped for catchin’ pheasants?’ asked John. ‘Yer don’t just march up to ’em an’ say “hop into this bag, mate”! It takes a lot o’ snares an’ bait, yer can’t catch pheasant wi’ ferrets.’

  ‘So tell us.’

  John’s resolution was immovable. ‘I’ve telled yer, I found ’em.’

  ‘Then how did yer get in such a mess?’ asked Thomasin calmly. ‘Yer jacket ripped to shreds, yer face an’ hands all scratched.’

  ‘Ah, well, that was when t’real poacher came along an’ caught me emptyin’ all his snares,’ John enlightened the gathering. ‘By, he were really upset. If gamekeeper hadn’t come along I wouldn’t’ve been ’ere to tell t’tale.’

  ‘Gamekeeper!’ Patrick’s noisy exclamation made the children jump visibly. ‘God, how did ye manage to escape?’

  ‘Ah, that’s where t’bramble bush comes in. Y’see, I’d already got one pheasant outta snare an’ was just about to knock off another when t’poacher arrives on t’scene an’ starts on me. Any road, he were makin’ that much row that gamekeeper hears ’im an’ along he comes, God yer oughta’ve seen size of his gun. He doesn’t see me ’cause poacher’s given me a right bazzackin’ an’ I’m lyin’ on t’floor. All he sees is t’other fella dancin’ about like a looney an’ takes a shot at ’im. I roll under t’bush while poacher takes off wi’ gamekeeper after ’im. ’Course, I ’ad to pick a bramble bush, didn’t I?’ He tutted and examined his hands with their red crisscrosses. ‘S’truth, I thought I were gonna be in there all night.’

  ‘Well, I hope ye’ve learned your lesson,’ said Patrick, puffing furiously and pacing about agitatedly.

  ‘Oh, I have, Pat, I have. I learned not to waste me time when there’s other soft devils ready to do yer work for yer. I’m off back tomorra night, see what else I can lay me ’ands on. See, when I were on me way ’ome I saw t’poacher lyin’ in t’ditch, right mess he were, he’ll not be goin’ back for a few nights, so I thought I’d save ’im trouble an’ go empty rest of ’is snares.’

  Patrick slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘The man’s incorrigible. What about the poacher – was he badly hurt?’

  John made an indifferent gesture. ‘I didn’t ’ang about to find out. That gamekeeper’s a bit handy!’

  ‘But he could be dying!’ objected Patrick.

  ‘Why should I worry about that? He were goin’ to make meat paste outta me, yer couldn’t expect me to ’elp ’im. Besides, he knew t’risks he were takin’ when he decided on his trade.’

  ‘I think it’s time you children went to bed,’ said Patrick, suddenly concerned at the effect John’s attitude was having on them.

  ‘Aw, Daddy!’ Dickie wanted to ask how one killed a pheasant. Sonny
was stroking the bird’s resplendent plumage and Erin had her arm draped over John’s houlder, all hoping their father would soften. But as Patrick’s hands dropped to his belt buckle the three scrambled hurriedly for the stairs.

  After their rapid disappearance Patrick addressed his friend. ‘Sometimes, John, I despair of ye, I really do, going on like that in front o’ the children.’

  ‘Like what?’ John was genuinely bewildered.

  ‘It’s no good tub-thumping at him,’ said Thomasin, going to hang up the pheasants. ‘He doesn’t know what yer on about. Yer’ll never change ’im. An’ happen it’ll all be forgotten tomorra when yer get yer teeth into these.’ She turned to John. ‘An’ now yer’ve ’ad a warmin’, my lad, yer can go get a blinkin’ wash!’ She caught hold of his collar and pushed him towards the back door.

  ‘Wait on, Tommy, I want a word wi’ Pat, it’s business.’

  ‘Not till yer clean,’ said Thomasin, rifling the drawer for a change of clothing which she hung over the back of a chair. ‘Now, outside an’ get yer head under that water an’ don’t come back till yer white again, Mister Blackamoor.’

  ‘Aren’t yer even gonna heat water up for me, after I’ve brought yer two pheasants?’ John’s protests met with a pitiless rejoinder.

  ‘An’ have that mud all over me kitchen floor? Not likely – out!’

  She watched, hawk-like, as he stripped offhis upper clothes and stepped into the yard where he bent under the icy water’s tortuous gush, groaning pathetically. When he had cleaned off all the mud, apart from that on his trousers, he was allowed back indoors to towel himself dry, change his clothes and sit shivering in front of the fire. Meekly grateful he accepted a mug of cocoa from Thomasin, swilling it down in one go and holding the mug out hopefully for a refill.