A Long Way from Heaven

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

  * * *

  Dickie loped into the kitchen to explore the cupboards in search of something to eat, then turned indignantly to his mother. ‘There’s no cake in any o’ these tins. Give us some money, Mam, an’ I’ll go buy a bag o’ biscuits.’

  In a trice Patrick was on his feet and had dealt the youngster a stinging blow round the ear. ‘Your mother’ll give ye nothing, my lad! D’ye think we’re made o’ the stuff? Ye’ve been taking too much for granted lately – all o’ yese. There’s Erin going on about wanting a new dress, Sonny pestering for books an’ you!’ he stabbed a finger at Dickie who had fallen under the blow and stared up at his father with a hurt expression, ‘you’re always thinking about your stomach. Ye never spare a thought for your mother an’ me.’

  ‘Patrick, don’t take it out on t’lad.’ Thomasin pulled Dickie to his feet and, rubbing his cheek in a motherly fashion sent him outside. ‘They’re only bairns, yer can’t expect ’em to understand what we’re up against.’

  ‘They should be made to realise then!’ shouted Patrick.

  ‘’Cause they’ll realise soon enough when their father is sent to prison.’

  Sonny poked his head experimentally into the room and said in a small voice, ‘Rent man’s in t’yard.’

  Thomasin gave a groan of dismay, then whispered to her son, ‘Go tell him I’m out an’ I’ll pay him next week.’

  ‘Sure, what did ye go an’ tell him that for?’ demanded her husband when Sonny had gone to carry out his orders. ‘Hiding behind a child.’

  She whirled on him. ‘Look, I’m sick of having to tell him I have nowt an’ I’ll be damned if I’m gonna humiliate myself another week.’

  Unwittingly Sonny had bestowed a deeper humiliation upon his mother by telling Daniel Jones, as he was about to knock, ‘Me mammy says she’s out.’

  Patrick and his wife were still involved in their argument as the rent collector ventured into the room. Both stopped in mid-sentence, Thomasin deeply embarrassed at having, been caught out.

  ‘Please, there’s no need to apologise, Mrs Feeney,’ he said in answer to her ashamed confession. ‘I do understand, really I do.’ His features became comparable to those of a spaniel dog rebuked by its master. ‘It grieves me deeply to have to be the one to add to your troubles, but I feel forced to warn you that I can no longer hope to keep your arrears a secret. If it were up to me of course I should be all too willing…’

  Thomasin sat down and bade him do likewise, which he declined, feeling uncomfortable. ‘It’s all right, Mr Jones, there’s no reason for you to feel guilty. Of course you’ll have to tell Mr Denton – an’ thank you for giving us warning of what to expect.’

  * * *

  Spring came into bloom, a time of new life and bright hopes – for some. All it brought the Feeneys was a deep poverty. People began to hammer on the door demanding payment. There was nothing to give them. The money Patrick had given the builders’ merchant had fended him off for a while but now he too was protesting. They cut food down to an absolute minimum in order to knock a few shillings off the debt. The crushing disgrace it brought was worse than any famine he had lived through.

  One tender concession to his misery was that Hannah had not visited them since Christmas and was therefore unaware of the adversity into which they had been plunged. William – who would have been the first to offer assistance had he known of their plight – had suffered a severe bout of bronchial trouble for the last four weeks and so had not been there to see their furniture slowly disappearing.

  Neither could John alleviate their plight by his normal methods, for Patrick had threatened that should he bring any more stolen goods into the house he would be immediately ejected, his previous fears about the felons’ gaol still holding good.

  As the days passed the Feeneys were forced to retreat deeper and deeper into the shadows of ruin.

  * * *

  Liam sat comfortably in his study, a glass of whiskey at his right hand, a book balanced in his left. He had just enjoyed an excellent lunch cooked by Mrs Ray, his housekeeper, and had decided to relax and perhaps snatch forty winks before his next pastoral commitment.

  The book grew heavier and the level of the topaz liquid fell lower in the glass. His eyelids became increasingly heavy and, however hard he might fix his eyes to the page, they refused to digest another line. His head began to loll and his chin sank slowly to his chest. The hand which held the book was lowered inch by inch to the desk and pretty soon Liam was snoring peacefully.

  His brief sojourn was abruptly fractured by a banging at his front door. Liam came suddenly conscious, almost knocking over the glass in his shock. He raised the hand that had stayed clamped automatically on the book while he slept and ran it around his chin, allowing the pages to flutter carelessly in the draught that came from the open window.

  What had woken him so rudely? His stomach was quite churned up about it. He was about to reclose his eyes when the frantic knocking came again. Tipping the remainder of the whiskey down his gullet he eased himself from his chair and went to answer it. The knocking was repeated. Where was that infernal Mrs Ray?

  He fumbled with the door knob in the darkened hallway, the stained glass sky-light above the door permitting the minimum of illumination. Mrs Ray must have gone out and, knowing he was asleep, had locked the door, fearing burglars. Damn and blast the woman. Where was his key?

  ‘Will ye stop your knocking, I’m comin’ as fast as I can!’ He finally came across his key, secreted beneath the glossy leaves of an aspidistra. Flicking the soil from it he opened the door to see Thomasin standing forlornly on his doorstep, a bundle in her arms and three scared-looking children with tear-stained faces by her side.

  ‘Oh, Liam, thank God you’re in! I didn’t know who else to come to.’

  Liam voiced his concern as the woman and her brood stepped past him into the hall. ‘Thomasin, ye look as though ye’ve had a death in the family. God help us ye’ve not, have ye?’

  ‘Oh, Father, it’s much worse than that!’ she replied, gulping in an agitated breath. ‘Much worse. Patrick’s been arrested!’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Liam listened assiduously as Thomasin related her tale of woe. The deputation had arrived that morning with warrants for Patrick and John’s arrest for non-payment of debts and to evict them from their home. Thomasin had had to undergo the acute indignity of being turfed out into the yard while the few remaining pieces of furniture were removed to go towards paying the debt and the house was boarded up. She had experienced a physical pain as each nail was hammered into the plank that spanned her doorway as if they were being driven into her heart. This was the house to which she had come as a bride, where her babies had been born. It was almost unbearable. The children had cried, the younger ones clinging to her skirts in bewilderment as the constable led their father away.

  Liam interrupted. ‘And what of your friend, John?’

  ‘Hah! You may well ask,’ she replied bitterly, cuddling Sonny on her lap. ‘That… so-called friend hopped out o’ the window an’ was away like an oiled rabbit before ever the bailiff pulled the warrant from his pocket. Fine friend he turned out to be.’

  ‘Ah sure maybe you’re being a little hard on the man,’ said Liam. ‘I know he’s a bit rough, but I can’t imagine he’s the sort o’ fella who’d let ye down after ye’ve given him a home for all this time. ’Tis my prediction he’ll be back. Ah, Tommy, Tommy, why did ye let things get this far without coming to me for help? Neither of ye said a word about it when ye last came to Mass.’

  ‘Pat wouldn’t let me ask anybody for financial help. He said it was beggin’.’

  Liam watched the tears fill her eyes and damned the man for a proud fool. ‘An’ does he think his friends are going to let him wilt away in that gaol? Does he think his pride is going to get him out o’ there? Begging indeed. He’s been on this earth for nearly forty years an’ still the man doesn’t know what friends are for.’ He clapped his hands. �
�Well, once we get you sorted out we’ll make a start on raising that money.’

  ‘I ’ope you ’ave more luck than me, then.’ Thomasin buried her head in her hands and Erin chewed her nails. ‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful ’cause Molly’s a good lass, but she’s not much use when it comes to money or needing a place to stay. She’d need a shoehorn to fit another four bodies into her house.’

  Liam stared ponderously at the whiskey bottle, wondering whether to offer any to Thomasin. He did not approve of women partaking of strong liquor, not from a moral stance, merely judging it a waste. However, Thomasin was in dire need of some stimulus to her jaded spirits and what better than a drop of Erin’s brew? He measured out a small glass and handed it to her. ‘Drink that down, ye’ll feel better.’ He waited for her to do so before proceeding. ‘Ye say that ye didn’t know where else to turn – what about your parents – do they know?’

  Thomasin allowed a struggling Sonny to vacate her lap and lollop off to explore the bookshelves. ‘Don’t go touchin’ owt, mind. No, Liam, they don’t know. I daren’t go for fear of what me mother’ll say.’

  ‘But surely your parents have a right to know their son-in-law’s in prison? You’re not going to tell me you’re afraid of your own mother?’

  ‘Not afraid of her,’ corrected Thomasin. ‘Afraid of what I’ll do if she starts spoutin’ the old story of Patrick the Pauper. I swear if she starts I’ll kill her. Just one word, that’s all it’ll take and I’ll…’

  ‘Calm yourself, woman,’ ordered Liam sternly. ‘Ye must go to your parents right away an’ tell them. They’ll stand by ye, I’m sure of it – an’ where else will ye lay your head now ye’ve no home? I can just hear the tongues wagging should I ask ye to lodge with me. Ah, I know your mother an’ Pat have never seen eye to eye, but take my word for it, when she hears what he’s suffered she’ll not be too hard on him.’

  Liam could not have been more wrong.

  * * *

  ‘Prison!’ screeched Hannah. ‘Oh, that it should come to this; my own daughter married to a convict.’ She pressed fraught digits to her temples and continued to voice her horror. ‘Oh, the shame of it. What am I to tell my neighbours when they enquire of your presence in my house – for enquire they will, oh yes, this is the opportunity they have been waiting for. How can I tell them that worthless man is in prison? Oh, Thomasin, how could you do this to me? Did I not tell you what would happen if you married that miserable wretch? But little in my constant warnings did I imagine he would drag you into such degradation.’ She turned on her husband. ‘I warned you! I warned you all but you would hear nothing against him and now all my fears have been realised. I was right from the beginning.’

  ‘And aren’t you bloody well pleased about it?’ accused Thomasin with the ferocity of a cornered cat.

  Hannah stared amazedly at her daughter. ‘How can you suggest such a thing? I have never suffered such humiliation – and please do not speak to me in such a vulgar manner. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of anything ’appening to you, Mother,’ replied Thomasin angrily. ‘It’s me who’s lost me house an’ me husband.’

  ‘But your misfortune reflects on me,’ answered the other. ‘And how you can possibly say I am pleased about it…’

  ‘I’ll tell yer why I can say it,’ snapped Thomasin. ‘Because it’s right. Don’t bother to deny it. I was watching your face before Christmas when yer thought Patrick’s business ’ad failed an’ when he pulled those sovereigns out of his pocket you were actually disappointed that you couldn’t say what yer’ve been dying to say ever since we were wed, which is “I told yer so”. I don’t know how yer’ve managed to contain yerself all these years, Mother. Yer’ve been livin’ for this moment, haven’t yer? Well, come on, let’s be ’earin’ it. Spit it out: ’e’s a pauper, a worthless good-for-nowt Irishman an’ he’ll never be anything else. Well, let me tell you a few facts, Mother!’ There was no halting the flow of invective once it had begun. ‘It’s you who’s responsible for ’is bein’ in this mess. You who nagged and nagged ’im from the moment you set eyes on ’im, makin’ ’im think he wasn’t fit to kiss me feet, prodding him into aspirations he can’t possibly achieve. Well, I’ll tell you summat else while I’m at it: I’d rather ’ave Patrick than all my sisters’ ’usbands rolled into one.’

  Hannah laughed uncomfortably. ‘Thomasin, this episode has affected your rationality. You cannot really compare Patrick to Danvers or Roderick – or even Carlyle. They always show their mother-in-law the utmost respect. Why, the last time he called, Danvers…’

  Here she was interrupted by her daughter. ‘Yes, and when was that, Mother? I’d be interested to know. When was the last time that Danvers, or any of ’em for that matter, deigned to call?’

  Hannah was about to give an affronted retort, then found that she could not remember the date of her other daughters’ last visit.

  ‘I’ll bet it’s a couple o’ years ago at least,’ said Thomasin. ‘An’ do you know why they don’t come, except as a duty? Or what the little monetary gifts are for? They’re to buy you off, Mother dear, so you won’t embarrass ’em in front of mater an’ pater. They’re all bloody well ashamed to have you as a relation because for all your fantasies you’re not, an’ never will be, in their class.’

  There was a short silence in which Thomasin remained poised for a counterblast. But she worried needlessly; Hannah was far too shocked to say anything.

  ‘I think tha’s said enough, daughter,’ reproached William. ‘What a blessin’ them bairns’re out in t’yard an’ couldn’t hear that. I’m ashamed o’ thee, lass, upsettin’ tha mother like that.’

  Hannah, her face ashen but strangely for once undampened by tears, rose wordlessly and, trance-like, went upstairs.

  ‘I’ve never seen her like that afore,’ breathed William, commenting on the lack of histrionics. ‘Tha’s really knocked stuffin’ out of her this time.’

  ‘Well, it was all true!’ snapped Thomasin, still fuming at her mother’s inclemency. ‘It was her who provoked me into sayin’ it by speakin’ about Pat like that.’

  ‘Aye, it might well be,’ replied William. ‘But did thee have to deliver tha speech in such a callous manner? I know she says some bloody stupid things, Tommy – I should know better than anybody, an’ I’ll agree wi’ thee she dun’t gi’ Pat much chance – but she is, after all, thy mother, lass. Tha’d no right to go speakin’ like that to ’er.’

  Thomasin was about to add to her defence then issued a long, drawn-out sigh and flopped into a chair like a rag doll. ‘Oh, I know, I know. It were rotten o’ me, Father – but when I think about the way she’s treated Pat an’ how she goes on about Danvers an’ his crew as if sun shines out of ’em it makes me sick.’ Her voice was in danger of rising again and she struggled to curb her temper. ‘There’s me poor ’usband locked away in a stinkin’ prison an’ all she thinks about is what people are goin’ to say about her.’

  ‘Well, that’s Hannah all over,’ voiced William, tugging up his breeches. ‘Thee ought to ’ave learned by now to take what she says wi’ a pinch o’ salt.’

  Thomasin nodded solemnly. ‘Aye well, ’appen I’ll go say I’m sorry when I’ve cooled down.’

  ‘Nay, it’s ower late for that,’ said her father. ‘No amount of apologisin’ is gonna make up for what thee said. I’d be surprised if she’ll even speak to thee, let alone forgive thee. Still,’ he added, seeing her downcast face and considering she had enough to contend with already, ‘’appen things are better out in t’open. She couldn’t go on wi’ her head in t’sand thinkin’ t’Baby Stork got fed up o’ flying and dropped her here instead o’ Windsor. Any road, I think she really knew it all along, about them being ashamed of her, I mean. That’s why she’s so ’ard on Pat — well, somebody had to be t’scapegoat, didn’t they? What more likely candidate than him, most decent fella among ’em?’ He chuckled. ‘I reckon I’ve had me fair shar
e of her yammerin’ an’ all over t’years, an’ truth be known, if I’d realised what I were lettin’ meself in for ’appen I’d’ve stayed single.’

  ‘Perhaps if yer ’ad done I wouldn’t be in this mess now,’ moaned Thomasin. ‘Oh, God, what am I goin’ to do?’

  ‘Tha’s gonna stop thinkin’ about thisself an’ start plannin’ a way to get lad out o’ there. Why the hell tha didn’t come to us before it got this far…’ he tutted and shook his head.

  ‘Yer right o’ course,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, poor, poor Patrick, I wonder what all this has done to him?’

  * * *

  After the ordeal of being parted from his family, Patrick arrived at Silver Street police station where he was passed along the line with an assortment of life’s unfortunate flotsam: thieves, murderers, debtors, all heaped together on the same dungpile, some to remain in the Debtors’ Prison, some destined for longer journeys – Botany Bay or the ‘Drop’.

  His thoughts, though he tried to stop them, turned invariably to Thomasin and the children. She had seen this coming, had begged him not to be too ambitious before he was ready. But he had known better, had refused to listen to a woman’s intuition – and this was where his superior judgment had taken him. How must she feel, married to a failure?

  It was because of thoughts like this that when Thomasin made her first visit to the prison she found access to her husband denied her. ‘But I’ve a right to see ’im,’ she protested to the gaoler. ‘I’m his wife.’