‘I cannot imagine what inspired you to enter into such an undertaking if you anticipated its failure,’ sneered Hannah, then sighed. ‘I expect you will be wanting to spend Christmas with us. Of course you will be most welcome. I assume that you, Mr Thompson, will have made your own arrangements for the festive season…’
Patrick interrupted. ‘’Tis most gracious of ye to honour us this way, Hannah, but we were rather hoping that you an’ Billy would care to spend your Christmas in our humble household, weren’t we, Tommy?’
His wife looked at him blankly, then her lips parted in unconcealed surprise as Patrick began casually to build a pile of gold coins on the table. She had to bite back her exclamation and turn to Hannah who was much too taken aback to notice her daughter’s surprise. ‘Yes, we were discussing it last night, Mother, we thought it’d make a nice change for you.’
‘But, your furniture,’ said Hannah in a small voice. ‘I assumed you had sold it to buy food.’
Thomasin appeared puzzled. ‘I can’t think what gave yer that idea. I told yer, I’ve shifted it, that’s all. Now, can we expect yer for Christmas?’
‘Oh, yes, dear, we will be happy to accept your kind invitation,’ said Hannah deflatedly, unable to believe that she could have been so wrong about her son-in-law.
As soon as the door had closed behind Hannah, the three burst out laughing and Thorhasin reached for the pile of sovereigns. ‘Am I to assume that you’ve been paid at last?’
‘Ye assume right,’ said Patrick, then grasped her wrist. ‘Not so fast, milady, ’tis bills we have to pay before I allow ye to get your lovely hands on it. But don’t worry, there’ll be plenty left to give us as fine a Christmas as we’ve ever had. However, the bills must take priority else we’ll not be able to get any more materials. An’ it doesn’t all belong to us, ye know, I do have another partner.’
John flung himself into a chair and eased the band on his eyepatch where it had made a red ridge on his forehead. ‘Nay, what do I need money for? I get all me bodily needs ’ere – or nearly all.’ He grinned devilishly at Thomasin who tucked her chin into her neck and narrowed her eyes. ‘All I require is a couple o’ bob to buy me ale an’ I’ll be happy.’
‘And is this Dodd’s payment?’ asked Thomasin.
‘’Fraid not,’ answered Patrick. ‘Mr Dodd wasn’t available when we called. This is for that second job we carried out. Still, once I’ve settled my own accounts we’ll be ready to go again.’ He separated a number of coins and put them into Thomasin’s hand. ‘That should be enough to organise a Christmas that’ll impress even your mother.’
It was. That Christmas was the first that passed without one demeaning comment from Hannah, without Thomasin having to accumulate her fruit and vegetables by rooting under the market stalls at the close of business, and without any untoward incident involving John, Patrick or the children. Their table had never been so full; not one square of tablecloth showed between the plates of ham, beef, fowl, fruitcakes, plum pudding, pork pies, pickles, mincepies, oh… what a feast! The house overflowed with a happiness that one could almost reach out and touch. Even Hannah forsook her usually aloof posturings to wish Patrick all health in his newfound prosperity, an act that made his happiness complete.
Chapter Thirty-three
After the Christmas period the demands for their work came flooding in, providing them with a healthy rota for at least the three months to follow. Apart from a brief delay due to heavy frosts, the weather had been their greatest ally.
The letters sent to Percival Dodd were still unanswered but this did not unduly worry the pair, for now that they had settled their own accounts they were able to obtain more credit. John suggested that they order sufficient bricks to complete the next three jobs – that way, by the time they were on to the last one, the first should have been paid for.
Their demand for such a large order was met with some reluctance. ‘You’re sure you’re going to be able to pay for all this?’ asked the merchant. ‘You were a bit longwinded in coughing up for the last lot.’
John confidently assured the man that business was booming and that he would be paid forthwith. ‘I hope so,’ replied the merchant. ‘I’ll expect it to be paid before the last day of February.’
Their new supply was stacked under a tarpaulin in Bay Horse Yard.
The children were in bed, John had been sent – against his will — to replace the bricks borrowed from Baxter and Patrick was stooped over his ledger, squinting under the transient light of a candle, his pen making tortured scratchings over the parchment.
His wife bent over his shoulder, her auburn tresses dangling onto the page. ‘My, we are cornin’ up in t’world,’ she murmured and pointed to the figure at the foot of the column. ‘Is that what we’re worth?’
Patrick carefully lifted the strand of hair that obstructed his pen and curled it round his finger, pulling her face down to his. ‘Sorry to disappoint ye, madam, but that’s what we owe.’
She straightened in shock, as far as her captive hair would allow. ‘You’re pullin’ me leg?’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’
His joviality was not shared by his wife. ‘Pat, it’s no laughin’ matter. Where are we goin’ to find that much money?’
‘From this column.’ He unwound her hair and pointed to the column on the opposite page. ‘Ye asked what we’re worth, well, take away the other figure an’ what ye have left is what we’re worth.’
Thomasin could scarcely believe it and held the candle nearer to the page to make sure she had not misread the figures. Patrick smiled at her undisguised astonishment. ‘It hasn’t been paid o’ course, but once we’ve completed these three jobs I think we’ll be able to manage that new house out o’ the profits. Are ye proud o’ me?’
She linked her arms about his neck and settled her chin on his springy black hair. ‘Pleased for yer, yes,’ she answered quietly. ‘But proud? Nay, I couldn’t be more proud o’ yer than I already was. It doesn’t take a pocketful o’ sovs to make me proud o’ yer.’ She swung herself round to sit on his lap. ‘Eh, I must admit though it’s nice not to have to worry where t’next penny’s comin’ from, to have plenty to eat an’ drink, an’ decent clothes.’
‘D’ye know what I enjoy best, though?’ asked Patrick, playing with the green ribbon at her throat. She looked at him expectantly. ‘Not having the extra weight to carry – your mother, she’s terrible heavy to have on me back all the time.’
Thomasin produced a bubbling laugh that came straight from the gut, just as John burst noisily through the door, his disfigured face twisted even further with fury.
‘Yer’ll not laugh when yer’ve heard what I’ve got to say,’ he snapped harshly, bringing both of them anxiously from the chair.
‘Whatever it is d’yer have to make so much row about it?’ pleaded Thomasin. ‘I don’t relish havin’ to sit readin’ stories to Sonny at this time o’ night.’
‘Huh! I won’t be the only one makin’ a row when yer know what I know.’ He marched feverishly up and down.
‘John, calm yourself,’ implored Patrick. ‘An’ tell us what’s wrong.’
‘We’re finished, that’s what’s wrong!’
They both guessed what he was about to say. ‘Oh, Jazers,’ breathed Patrick. ‘Ye got caught putting those bricks back.’
Thomasin slumped into the chair and sighed noisily. ‘I might’ve known you couldn’t be trusted to do owt right.’
Showing a side of his character that neither had seen for some years John rounded on them. ‘Well, clever buggers yer both wrong. I loaded t’bricks onto ’andcart, covered ’em, trundled ’em down to Baxters an’ stacked ’em all nice an’ neat without anybody sayin’ as much as boo.’
‘Then I can’t understand why you’re so angry,’ said Patrick.
John slammed his palms onto the table and leaned on them, speaking into his shirt front. ‘Because when I came back the yard was empty, that’s why. Some thievin’ swine�
��s gone an’ nabbed all our livelihood.’
‘Taken all our stuff?’ cried Patrick, then ran into the yard to stare at the ground where only a dusty patch marked their stockpile’s previous existence. ‘My God, I’ve been sitting here all night an’ never heard a thing. How could they have stolen it from under our noses? The only sound I’ve heard all night is…’ he groaned and leaned against the wall in despair. ‘A cart.’
‘Aye, that was the sound of our dream bein’ carted away,’ said John sourly, stamping back into the house. ‘The thieving bastards. The idle, bloody wasters. Can’t think of a way to earn a livin’ except by pinchin’ some bugger else’s. Yer can’t trust any bugger these days.’
Thomasin hastily hid her face beneath her hands, lending them to believe she was crying – Oh, I shouldn’t, she rebuked herself. Here we are on the verge of disaster and what do I do – laugh. But the sight of John’s indignance had been too much to remain straight-faced. He really believes what he’s saying, she thought. She stirred as Patrick gripped her shoulder to offer comfort, and pretended to dry her eyes before looking up at him.
‘It appears your mother was right,’ he said bitterly. ‘Once a pauper, always a pauper.’
Suddenly repentant for her private amusement she stood up and shook him gently. ‘Oh, Pat, only you could possibly blame yourself for the dirty deed of another. It wasn’t your fault the bricks were stolen. Anyway,’ she turned to John, ‘How can your career be finished? Pat’s just been showin’ me t’books: accordin’ to what I’ve seen you could still afford another load.’
John glared savagely at Patrick who tried to explain the predicament to his wife. ‘’Tis not as simple as it sounds, Tommy. Those figures I showed ye were merely that – figures. Ye see, we haven’t even enough available cash to pay for those bricks. John is right – without them we’re finished.’
* * *
Patrick was roused the following morning by his younger son pounding up and down astride his chest.
‘Look what I found growin’ outside the window, Daddy. Daggers.’
Patrick bellowed as the icicles which Sonny brandished slipped from his little fingers and landed on his father’s naked chest.
‘Jazers, ye little varmint! I’ll have the hide off ye, I will.’
Sonny leapt from the bed and retreated to the comparative safety of the doorway as Patrick flung back the bedclothes to retrieve the ‘daggers’.
‘Haven’t I told ye ’tis dangerous to lean outta that window?’ said Patrick grumpily as he stumbled from his bed and placed the icicles on the saucer which housed the bedtime candle.
Sonny chewed his lip and watched his father rummaging about in the semi-darkness for his trousers. ‘Will my willie be as big as that when I grow up?’ he asked with interest, a question he had asked many times, but repeated as he liked the reassurance of its answer. But today’s response was different.
‘Ye’ll be lucky if ye grow up at all if ye go dropping icicles down me front of a morning,’ warned Patrick. ‘Think yourself lucky ye don’t meet with the usual fate that greets harbingers of doom.’ Sonny’s news of the arrival of the true winter could only add to his problems.
‘What d’ye mean, Daddy?’
‘Never mind. Go tell your mother if me breakfast isn’t on the table in ten seconds ’tis a widower I’ll be.’
‘’Tis already on the table,’ answered Sonny. ‘That’s what I came to tell ye.’
‘Then why didn’t ye?’ Patrick wanted to know, tucking his son under his arm and marching downstairs.
‘I gather you’ve looked outta the window,’ said Thomasin seeing her husband’s grumpy expression.
‘I didn’t need to,’ replied Patrick plunging straight into his bacon and eggs, with every intention of enjoying it while he had the chance. ‘Your son brought me the evidence.’
John, who slept downstairs, was always up before the rest of the household and was now poring over the ledger.
‘Ye’ll not magic that into money just by looking at it,’ said Patrick, nipping a piece of gristle from his bacon. ‘By my calculations we can raise about fifteen guineas without leaving ourselves destitute.’
‘Don’t yer think it’s about time that Mr Dodd parted with his cash?’ volunteered Thomasin. ‘I know yer can’t expect prompt payments but after all it’s been three months since you did his extension. I reckon he’s had enough time to scrape t’cash together now.’
‘Well, I keep sending him reminders,’ said Patrick, mopping his mouth. ‘I’ve heard nothing.’
‘Once he’s paid,’ said John thoughtfully, ‘we could just about raise t’rest o’ the money by doing odd jobs again.’
‘“Once he’s paid” being the catch-phrase,’ said Patrick dismally. ‘He hasn’t taken much notice o’ my reminders, has he?’
‘Well, instead o’ wondering,’ suggested his wife, ‘why don’t you an’ John pay him a visit an’ demand yer money?’ She looked out of the window at the glassy yard. ‘Yer not gonna be able to do much else today.’
Later, when he was washed and shaved, Patrick caught John in the act of secreting a pickaxe handle up his sleeve. ‘John, what in God’s name are ye doing now?’
‘Have yer thought what yer gonna do if he won’t pay?’ enquired his friend, hooking a finger under his eyepatch to scratch the sunken socket. Patrick replied that he had not. ‘Well, I ’ave.’ John tapped the piece of wood up his sleeve.
Patrick grabbed hold of the man’s arm and extracted the shaft. ‘John, ye cannot solve everything with violence. Anyways, I don’t think there’ll be any need for that. Mr Dodd seemed a respectable man, I’m certain he’ll cough up when we explain the situation.’
Their journey to Heslington Road was hampered by cart tracks and people’s footprints which had frozen into a corrugated skating rink. Once there, the men’s spirits were not enlivened by the off-white curtains which blinded every window.
‘Sure, they can’t all be still in bed, can they?’ wondered Patrick. ‘’Tis almost dinnertime.’
‘Bed or not,’ responded John, delivering three hearty raps on the brass door knocker, ‘that’ll soon get the buggers up.’ Several raps later there was still no reply and they decided to scout around the rear of the house for the servants’ quarters. At the back entrance they tried again.
‘It is futile to knock, young man,’ came a quivering voice from the seclusion of a privet hedge.
Patrick and John exchanged glances, then approached the hedge and peered over it. Below them was a grey, stooped figure in a magenta cloak and the most bizarre headgear they had ever encountered, with ostrich plumes of scarlet and orange clashing superbly with the cloak.
‘Beg pardon, ma’am,’ Patrick addressed the woman. ‘Could ye tell us where I might get in touch with Mr Dodd?’ The ageing dowager produced an eartrumpet from the confines of her cloak and, holding it to her ear, pointed it in the direction of Patrick’s face.
‘You will have to speak up, I am rather hard of hearing.’ Patrick took hold of the edges of the eartrumpet and shouted into it: ‘We’re looking for Mr Dodd. Can ye tell us where to find him please?’
‘Are you friends of his?’ asked the woman.
Patrick decided that this was going to be a long conversation if he went into details so replied that, yes, he and Mr Dodd were good friends.
‘You will forgive me for asking,’ replied the woman. ‘But I thought it politic to keep an eye on Percival’s property while he is away. There are so many unsavoury characters around these days.’ She seemed not to include John in her generalisation as she smiled quite nicely at him.
‘Away, ye said?’ shouted Patrick. ‘What time will he be back?’
‘Oh, not until later in the year,’ she answered. ‘But then I thought you would have known that if you are acquainted with him. Percival always goes to the Continent during the winter, he suffers greatly from the cold. His rheumatics, you know. Indeed, my poor joints have not taken kindly to this icy spell the
y…’
Patrick cut her off in mid-sentence, saying worriedly, ‘There’s nobody in the house at all? A maid, anybody?’
‘Yes, so do I!’ responded the old lady and Patrick had to grip the trumpet impatiently to repeat the question.
When at last he had ascertained that the house was completely empty, that their last hope had been denied them, the two men returned home, deflated and angry.
‘The inconsiderate, ould swine!’ stormed Patrick to his wife. ‘Would ye not think he’d’ve settled up before he went haring off to enjoy himself? What sorta trick is that to play on anyone?’ He threw a cup violently at the wall.
‘Well, raving like a madman isn’t goin’ to help,’ said Thomasin, calmly picking up the pieces. ‘If yer carry on like this we’ll have nowt left to sell. ’Cause that’s what it’s gonna boil down to, yer know, sell as much as we can to raise t’money.’
The sale of the majority of their furniture raised nowhere near as much as they had hoped for, even by deviously spiriting away some of the children’s larger toys they could not hope to meet the amount required. By the twenty-seventh of February they had only accrued a portion of the debt. Patrick’s pride would not allow him to beg from either friends or family, yet every knock at the door sent him into a panic, only to breath easily again after each false alarm. There came the day, however, when the bad dreams were overtaken by the dreaded actuality; the arrival of the builders’ merchant’s demand.
‘Well, here it is.’ Patrick flattened the bill out on the only remaining table while John and Thomasin stared down worriedly at it. ‘What’re we to do?’
John offered to recoup the bricks he had restored to Baxter’s site, drawing little applause from Patrick.
‘Sure, ’tis bad enough being on the verge of seeing the inside o’ the Debtors’ Prison. I should hate to sample the felons’ side as well.’
His words brought fresh horrors to Thomasin’s mind. ‘You don’t really believe it’ll come to that?’
‘Prison? Why, of course. If I fail to meet that demand there’s no other possible conclusion. Anyway,’ he folded the demand into his pocket, ‘I’ll go offer him the money we’ve managed to raise an’ hope he’ll wait for the rest.’ Though the icy weather had abated, enabling them to take on odd jobs and repairs they could not hope to raise the rest of the cash by these methods. What little money they earned was spent, naturally enough, on food…
A Long Way from Heaven Page 34
