Thomasin was about to lay about him verbally when she caught Erin’s eye. The girl seemed to be imploring her not to make trouble. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ she uttered eventually, then bent to kiss Erin and whispered in her ear, ‘Try to go if yer can, love, but don’t worry if they force yer to go with them. Nobody’s goin’ to hold it against yer if yer can’t get to your own church.’
‘What about Daddy?’ asked Erin softly.
‘What he doesn’t know can’t harm him,’ responded Thomasin. ‘Anyway, it might not come to owt, just wait an’ see how yer get on.’ She gave Johnson one more glare, then took her leave.
Out on the street she shivered and paused to look back at the handsome residence, her admiring eyes meeting another pair that held her gaze levelly. So that is Roland’s wife, she thought, staring up at the beautiful but cold face at the bedroom window. How could Roland ever have taken a second glance at me when he has a wife who looks like that? She’s lovely.
What on earth is that common woman staring at? thought Helena. And more to the point what business has brought her to my house? There was something very familiar about the red-haired woman. Where had Helena seen her before and why should such a plain-looking creature inspire such curiosity?
Her hair was scarlet against the white of the pavement as she stared unwaveringly at the window, refusing to be intimidated by Helena’s imperious sneer. Helena frowned as she tried to recall the occasion of their meeting – though it was doubtful that Helena had ever debased herself to talk with such a jade; she was more suited to Roland’s… my God, that was it! Helena stepped back sharply as the memory smote her, the indignity of witnessing this creature on her own husband’s arm.
Why, the audacity of the man! The outrage. How dared he bring his mistress into her house? The anger fluttered inside the exquisite breast as Helena stood on tiptoe, in order to see into the street without reapproaching the window, but the woman had gone. Well, gone or not, fumed Helena, I shall get to the bottom of this, and if I discover that that woman has spent the night under my roof then heads are going to roll.
* * *
As the door of the big house closed behind Thomasin so Erin’s introduction to working life began. Rose instructed Alice to get the girl kitted out in her uniform, which was several sizes too large and had to be hitched up and tucked in.
‘At least you don’t have to pay for it,’ said Alice at Erin’s complaint. ‘That’d be a nice slice out o’ yer wage before yer begin.’ She moved off. ‘Away, I’ll show you round the house. We might as well start at the top an’ work our way down to the kitchen.’ She led Erin up four flights of stairs, pausing on each landing for the breathless child to catch up with her.
‘Don’t worry, yer’ll soon get accustomed to running up an’ down these a dozen times an hour.’ At the top of the house Alice turned a knob and flung open the door of the small attic room. ‘This is my room – or should I say ours now.’
She pushed Erin into the room which was little more than a cupboard and must have required a lot of ingenuity to fit in the articles of furniture it contained, which were: a bed of cast iron, a chest of drawers, a washstand complete with jug and bowl in plain white enamel. There were no cupboards or wardrobes, merely a rail fixed to the wall on which hung Alice’s two dresses and spare uniform. Neither was there any gaslight here, the only decoration on the wall being a picture of an angel surrounded by cherubs, and the only source of artificial light a stub of candle on a saucer.
Alice wriggled to adjust her stays. ‘Down we go.’
On the storey below she tapped on a door and placed her ear to it before entering. ‘This is her ladyship’s boudoir, where it all happens.’ She rolled her eyes at Erin’s blank expression. ‘Never mind, innocent, yer’ll learn. Go an’ have a look on her dressing table, there’s some right pretty things.’
Erin crept into the room, afraid that her boots would mark the carpet. Alice sailed across the room and threw open the wardrobe doors. ‘What about that lot then?’
Erin gasped at the splendid range of gowns that shimmered and dazzled from within, and thought of Thomasin’s pitiful collection.
‘No wonder she can never make up her mind,’ sniffed Alice, roughly stuffing the escaping gowns back inside the wardrobe, then closing the door.
Next she took Erin on a fleeting inspection of the master’s room, and then on to his daughter’s.
‘Oh, sorry, Miss Caroline,’ she apologised. ‘I thought yer’d be in the schoolroom, otherwise I woulda knocked.’
‘It is perfectly all right, Alice,’ smiled the child rising from the window seat and shaking out her lacy skirts. ‘Miss Elwood is not feeling too well so we did not have lessons today.’ She looked at Erin who curtsied.
‘This is the new maid, Miss Caroline,’ provided Alice. ‘Her name’s Erin.’
‘How do you do, Erin? Will you not stay and talk to me for a little while? I would be so glad of the company. It can be terribly lonely up here.’
Alice looked peeved. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, Miss. She’s supposed to be here to help me. Can’t have her natterin’ to you all day.’
‘Oh, please, Alice,’ coaxed Caroline. ‘Do be a sport. It’s simply awful up here with no one to talk to.’
‘You’d find it a lot worse down in the kitchen,’ reprimanded Alice. ‘Still, seein’ as how she didn’t choose to arrive ’till all t’mucky work was over I suppose I can grant her half an hour. Soon be dinnertime any road.’ She flicked a hand at Erin. ‘You certainly know how to time your entrances.’ She left Erin in Caroline’s care and bustled towards the stairs, then turned and added a chafing rejoinder. ‘Best get your bit o’ pleasure while yer can, ’cause tomorra yer won’t know whether yer on yer arm or yer elbow.’
When Alice had left, Caroline smiled and returned to the window seat, patting the cushion for Erin to join her. ‘Now, you must tell me all about yourself.’
Erin asked what she wanted to know.
‘Well, you can begin by telling me your age,’ replied Caroline.
‘Twelve, Miss,’ said Erin, much to Caroline’s surprise.
‘Oh, are you really? I assumed you were much older, my age at least. You are very tall, aren’t you?’
Erin nodded. ‘I expect I get that from my Daddy. How old are you then?’ she asked familiarly, then, remembering to whom she was speaking, added a hasty ‘Miss’.
‘Fourteen,’ answered Caroline.
Now it was Erin’s turn to be astonished. ‘Jazers, ye don’t look it!’ she cried, making Caroline laugh at her funny accent.
‘Why do you speak like that?’ asked the other girl, who never ventured outside the house except to Chapel on a Sunday so had only come into contact with the Yorkshire voices of the servants and the accentless English of her parents.
‘’Cause I’m Irish,’ replied Erin. Sure the girl must be a bit of an eejit if she didn’t know that.
‘You will have to forgive my ignorance,’ said Caroline, ‘but I have never had the pleasure of speaking with an Irish person until now.’ She grabbed a cushion from behind her back and hugged it to her chest, clearly delighted at having someone of her own age to talk with. ‘Tell me more. Have you any sisters?’
‘No.’ Erin made a face. ‘I’ve got two brothers. Right little devils they are an’ all.’
‘I wish I had a sister,’ sighed Caroline. ‘Or even a brother would do, as long as it was someone to talk to.’
‘Ye wouldn’t like having brothers.’ Erin shook her head. ‘They’re a real arse-ache.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, Miss, I shouldn’t’ve said that.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ replied Caroline casually. ‘It is one of Alice’s words. Perhaps you might tell me what it means? Alice will never tell me.’
Erin seemed reluctant to enlighten the young lady.
‘Come, I won’t tell,’ pleaded Caroline. ‘Alice is always saying naughty words when she thinks I’m not listening. I made a note of them all.’ She then came ou
t with such a stream of oaths as Erin had ever heard, even from her stepmother’s lips.
‘Ye oughtn’t to say things like that,’ she gasped. ‘’Tisn’t nice for a lady.’
‘I don’t want to be a lady,’ sulked Caroline. ‘I want to be like you, it is more fun. Now, tell me what they mean.’
Erin interpreted those words which she knew the meaning of. ‘But don’t ye go telling anyone I told ye.’
Caroline promised, then asked: ‘If you are only twelve then why are you not at school? Have you left?’
‘I haven’t never been to school,’ replied Erin flatly. ‘I wished I could. Me brothers go, both of ’em, but nobody seemed to think it was important for me to go.’
‘And would you really have liked to?’ prompted Caroline.
‘Oh, yes! I’d love to learn to read an’ write proper. Me Daddy taught me a little bit but I’d really love to learn things about other countries an’ that.’
Caroline was thoughtful for a moment then went on to ask about Erin’s parents. Erin, after informing the girl that her father built houses and her mother was going after a job in a grocery enquired about Caroline’s parents.
‘I hardly ever see mine,’ Caroline told her sadly.
‘But how can ye not see them when ye live in the same house?’ Erin wanted to know. ‘Sure, ye must meet at dinnertime.’
‘Mama does not allow me to dine with her and Papa. I eat in the kitchen and, apart from the time in the schoolroom, all my days are spent up here.’
Erin was astounded. ‘Don’t ye ever see your mother at all?’
Caroline shook her head and her face clouded over. ‘Only by accident. I do not think she likes me because I’m not pretty like her.’
‘But y’are pretty,’ Erin cut in.
Caroline smiled weakly. ‘It is very decent of you, Erin, to try and cheer me up but you must be wrong. Mama has always made it perfectly clear to me why she finds my presence so hard to bear. It is because I am so ugly.’
Erin stared back at the girl pityingly. Not by even the most hypercritical standards could Caroline be judged ugly. Her hair, like skeins of molten gold, bunched in ringlets over the immature shoulders, framed a heart-shaped face set with eyes the colour of the sky on a June day.
‘Have ye never looked in the mirror?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes, it became quite a regular habit some years ago. Each night after Mama had been to see me I would stare into the glass for hours, praying that in the morning some miracle would have occurred.’
‘But I thought ye just said she didn’t come to see ye.’ Erin was confused.
Caroline explained. ‘I am referring to when I was a little girl. She used to come and see me quite often then, I remember quite clearly although I cannot have been more than three years old. I would be lying in bed, all quiet, and the door would creak. I used to be able to tell that it was Mama who lingered outside by the scent of her perfume, it would float into my room before she entered. Sometimes she would pause outside the door for an age without speaking or making any sound and often the smell of perfume would fade, then I knew that she was not coming, she had changed her mind. Other times she would creep to the side of my bed and stare down at me and ask if I loved her. Then I would reply that I did and ask if she could love me, just a little, and she would say, “But you are so ugly. How could anyone love you?” and then she would go and I would cry.’
Erin covered her newfound friend’s hand comfortingly.
‘Then,’ continued Caroline with misted eyes, ‘one night her visits stopped completely. I missed her so.’
Erin was amazed. ‘But don’t you hate her?’
‘Hate her?’ said Caroline, perplexed. ‘I love her, she is my mother.’
‘But she told you those cruel lies. Ye aren’t ugly at all, but very pretty.’
Caroline could not be convinced. ‘Then why would she say it, if it were untrue?’
‘Sure, I don’t know that,’ replied Erin. ‘Perhaps she’s just jealous of ye.’
Here Caroline had to laugh. ‘Oh, Erin, you have obviously not encountered Mama yet or you would know why that statement is so ridiculous. Mama is the most beautiful, adorable creature on earth. She is without comparison.’
Beautiful she might be, thought Erin, but no one who said such things to a little child could be called adorable. However, she decided to shift the conversation to Caroline’s father. ‘What about your Daddy, do ye see him?’
Caroline’s face brightened. ‘Oh, yes, Papa loves me, he always comes up to kiss me goodnight. Well, mostly,’ she added in retrospect. Her father often disappeared without trace for days on end; still, when he was at home he always made a point of spending a little time with his daughter.
All at once Erin felt a rush of gratitude for her own parents’ love which she had so often taken for granted. How she pitied this poor girl, for all her wealth and comforts. Delving into her apron pocket she produced a bag of sweets. ‘Here, would ye like a barley sugar?’
Caroline extricated one of the sticky sweets from the bag and tested it on her tongue.
‘Me Mam bought me ’em on the way here,’ said Erin, then wished she had not for Caroline’s face had the forlorn look about it again. She shoved the bag towards the other girl. ‘Go on, have another. Me Mam said I had to share ’em with me friends.’
Caroline looked at the other earnestly. ‘And are you my friend, Erin?’
‘If ye want me to be, then I am.’ Erin grinned and popped another sweet in her mouth, little guessing that if anyone was in need of a friend in this household it would be her.
Chapter Forty-one
After Mass, during which the freckle-faced boy had paraded his victorious cockroach along the rim of the pew in front to alleviate the tedium and to draw envy from his tiny, ginger-haired opponent, the boys returned to the classroom.
Before setting off on his errand for Brother Francis, Dickie offered his brother a few words of advice.
‘Try and behave yourself while I’m away,’ he warned. ‘Just watch yourself with old Codgob.’
Sonny knotted his brow. ‘Who?’
‘Codgob – Brother Simon Peter,’ replied the other. ‘A right villain he is. If ye start spouting off like ye’ve done to Brother Francis he’ll tear the ears from your head.’
Dickie did not have time to elaborate further as Brother Francis summoned his delegates and sent the remainder of the class in the direction of Brother Simon Peter’s classroom.
The moment Sonny encountered the man who was to take the next lesson his brother’s choice of nickname was clarified. Indeed, never had a pseudonym been so descriptive; the master looked just like the specimens he had seen on the fishmonger’s slab. His dark eyes were cold and unfriendly, staring lifelessly at the little boys who ambled silently past him. The eyebrows met in a permanent V above the nose, from which sprang ugly black hairs. But it was the lips that gave rise to the alias; thick and wide, most definitely cod-like, ballooning out in blubbery disapproval of his unfortunate pupils.
He spoke and Sonny, his eyes glued to the extraordinary face, felt a desperate urge to laugh. The words seemed to cascade all lopsidedly from the distorted mouth.
‘You find something amusing, boy?’
Startled, Sonny gulped and smiled into the muddy eyes. ‘No, Brother.’
‘Then why, may I be permitted to ask, do you wear that stupid grin?’ There was no outward indication that the man was angry; the words were delivered softly.
‘Me Mammy says “Life’ll treat ye better if ye always wear a smile”.’ Though Sonny doubted the validity of Thomasin’s anecdote as he looked at the sullen face of the master.
‘I see,’ replied the Brother thoughtfully. ‘I had always assumed that it was only lunatics who went around with a permanent grin on their faces. Have we then, I ask myself, a lunatic in our midst?’
Nobody laughed.
‘What is your name, boy?’
‘Sonny Feeney.’
‘Hah! A lunatic indeed.’ The mouth laughed, its thick lips quivering. ‘Who but a lunatic would sport a name such as that? Have you no proper name, boy?’
Sonny was beginning to lose his temper. ‘My real name is John,’ he said firmly. ‘But my friends call me Sonny.’
‘Well, Feeney,’ replied the master, ‘when you have been here longer you will realise that to number me among those to whom you refer as friends would be ill-advised. I am not here to be your friend but to knock some education into that stupid brain of yours – if you have one. This,’ he took a thick leather strap from a hook on the wall, ‘is my only friend. It commands respect. I would ask you to remember that in future when you are in my classroom, you will behave with decorum and mind your manners. My friend does not allow smirkers in this room, and it would be most unwise of you to anger him.’ He toyed with the wicked-looking strap for a few moments, stroking its fringed end over the palm of his white hand.
‘Mr Kearney knows all too well what happens when my friend becomes angry, do you not, Kearney?’ He addressed the freckle-faced boy whom Sonny had been dismayed to find sitting next to him.
But the boy was not as bold as his companion had been. ‘Yes, Brother.’ It came out as a whisper.
‘Yes, Kearney has very good reason to remember my friend’s anger,’ said Brother Simon Peter, tapping the strap gently against his hand. ‘Which makes his behaviour during Mass this morning all the more unaccountable.’
The boy cringed visibly as the master went on, ‘Perhaps you will tell me, Kearney, indeed, tell all of us the reason you have just attended Mass?’
‘To pray to our Lord, Brother.’ The answer was delivered into his collar.
‘I cannot hear you, Kearney. Speak up.’
‘To pray, Brother.’
‘To pray, Kearney! That is correct. To pray to our Maker for all the good things of life. To pray for His forgiveness for all the vile deeds we commit.’ He flung his arm wide as he spoke, encompassing the whole class, then turned back abruptly and leaning towards the freckle-faced boy spat: ‘Then did my eyes deceive me when I observed in the church, in Our Lord’s house, a contemptible, dirty-nosed little cretin sporting a cockroach on the pew? Did they, Kearney?’
A Long Way from Heaven Page 42
