‘Well, what have yer got to say for yerselves?’ demanded Thomasin sternly.
‘I was only writing me name to show our Dickie,’ explained Sonny.
‘Aye, and all the rest,’ declared Thomasin. ‘Miss Peabody was very upset, said you’d been cheeky to her.’
‘Oh, come on, Tommy,’ coaxed her husband. ‘Sure, you’re not going to give them a beating for so mild an offence? You know as well as I that the woman is a blasted killjoy. They were only having a bit o’ fun.’
Dickie edged up to his mother and leaned his head against her, gazing up pleadingly with those big, blue eyes. ‘You’re not going to clout us, Mam, are ye?’
‘By, I must be goin’ soft.’ Thomasin hung up the spoon and gave each boy a shove towards the back yard. ‘Off yer go to t’closet then we’ll decide if yer goin’ to get any supper.’ After they had been outside, had polished their boots and placed them on the fender for morning, Patrick took one on each knee where they sat complacently until Thomasin hauled them off for a wash. When her rough ministrations were completed, once again they leaned their faces against their father’s broad chest, cups in hand, a ring of greasy cocoa around each mouth, while Patrick related another of the Irish folk tales from his childhood.
‘Sure, ye got off very lightly with your mother,’ whispered Patrick, when his tale was over. ‘’Tis a hanging offence in your grandmother’s opinion, ye know, upsetting the neighbours.’
Sonny threw up his eyes. ‘Women!’ he expostulated. ‘They should be attacked more often.’
‘I heard that,’ came Thomasin’s voice. ‘Bed!’
Upstairs the boys took off their trousers, Sonny very carefully, then stood silently for a moment, listening for any movement on the stairs.
‘Right, get the pot,’ commanded Dickie when the coast was clear.
Sonny complained that he always had to fetch it, to which his brother replied that this was as it should be because Sonny was the youngest, so Sonny reached under the bed and pulled out a large, white champerpot.
‘Put it over near the wall,’ ordered Dickie, lifting his shirt in readiness.
‘You’ll never hit it from there,’ hissed Sonny.
‘How much do ye bet?’ said Dickie, taking aim.
‘And what if ye miss and it goes through the floorboards onto me Dad’s head?’ protested Sonny, making his brother giggle and causing him to misfire. The stream of urine sprayed over the bedroom floor in a damp, irregular pattern. ‘See, I told ye ye couldn’t hit it.’
A giggling fight ensued.
‘Stop, I’m wetting meself,’ chuckled Sonny as his brother tickled him. ‘Let me have my go.’ He then sent an undeviating fountain tinkling into the chamberpot.
‘Look out, me Mam’s coming!’ exclaimed Dickie, foiling Sonny’s accuracy and sparking off another bout of pummelling.
‘Have you boys said your prayers?’ Patrick’s voice floated up to their room, putting a stop to their horseplay.
‘Yes, Dad,’ lied Dickie.
‘May God have mercy on ye, Richard Feeney,’ replied his father. ‘All I’ve heard so far is a lot of shenanigans. I’ll be having a word with the priest about that lying tongue o’ yours.’
Dickie grinned and knelt down, putting his hands together. ‘God bless Mam, our Sonny, Grandma and Grandad, Aunty Molly, Uncle Jim an’ all me friends,’ he chanted loud enough for his father to hear. ‘And please, God, could Ye send me a new daddy? ’Cause the one I have is awful cruel to us. Thank Ye very much, amen.’
Patrick chuckled and closed the downstairs door.
‘Ye can forget about the last bit, God, I was only joking,’ said Dickie to the ceiling.
‘Ye shouldn’t say things like that,’ reproached Sonny. ‘Ye’ll go to Hell.’
He knelt and offered his own prayer. ‘God bless Mam, Dad, Dickie, all the people that our lad said an’ would You possibly be able to make old Codgob very poorly in time for the next P.T. lesson? Thank You, amen.’
On the wall beside their bed was a wooden crucifix and, under this, a small container of holy water which they applied to their foreheads and breasts in the sign of the cross. Then, snuggling under the blankets and clinging to each other for extra warmth, they soon drifted into the land of dreams.
Much later, as Thomasin lay beside her husband in the aftermath of passion, she had an idea.
‘Pat?’ She elbowed him.
‘Sure, have ye not had enough that ye can find the strength to talk as well?’
‘I’ve been thinking. Now that there’s a bit more brass coming in, how about us havin’ a housewarmin’ party?’
‘Well, so long as ye don’t go inviting the ould faggot from next door,’ he mumbled. ‘She’d put a damper on the whole affair.’
‘Aw, she’s not that bad,’ said his wife charitably. ‘She can’t help it if she’s nowt better to do than to live other people’s lives for ’em. And she does have her uses, does Nelly. She’ll always tell yer whose prices are lowest or if there’s owt going off that we need to know about. Now then, about this party,’ she droned on, unaware that her husband had fallen asleep. ‘I think it’s best if we wait until the summer. I don’t want people trailing slushy boots into my new house. We’ll have to arrange it so it falls on Erin’s day off. ’Appen she’ll need a bit o’ relaxation after all that hard work she’s got in store for her…’
Chapter Forty-three
Poor Erin, accustomed to rising at seven-thirty or eight o’clock, was startled into wakefulness by Alice’s rough shaking. ‘Come on, it’s half past five! You’ll have to get that fire lit.’ Erin leapt out of bed, splashed some water on her face from the bowl on the dresser, hastily pulled on her clothes and followed Alice down to the kitchen.
‘Right’, said Alice, taking a bucket which contained some brushes and rags from a cupboard. ‘Here’s your cleaning things, go an’ do t’range while I go and spread some tea leaves on t’upstairs carpets.’
Erin looked blankly from the range to Alice, who snapped testily, ‘S’truth, I thought I was in for a rest now you’re here. Come on, useless, I’ll help you. But just this morning, mind.’ She knelt upon a piece of sacking and showed Erin how to clean out the grate, brush off the bars and hob, then how to mix a lump of blacklead with water and apply it with a roundheaded brush, taking care to get into all the nooks and crannies.
‘It’s best if you can clean the grate out on a night, then there isn’t so much to do on a mornin’. Still, that means you stayin’ up till her ladyship’s guests have gone, so you can’t win either way really. Now then, got the idea? When it’s dried you polish it with that brush there.’
Erin nodded. ‘Where do I put the ashes?’
Alice put her hands on her hips. ‘Out in that bin in the yard o’ course. I hope you’re not gonna be wantin’ to know the far end of a fart all day. You’ll have to use your noddle a bit, you know. I’ve got me own work to do, I can’t be playin’ nursemaid to you.’
Erin went to dispose of the ashes.
‘And hurry up, you haven’t got all day!’
Rose came into the kitchen. ‘What, no kettle on, Alice?’
‘S’not my fault,’ replied Alice haughtily, collecting the used tea leaves. ‘Erin hasn’t cleaned the range yet.’
‘Oh, God gimme strength, girl!’ hollered the cook. ‘You’ll have to do better than that if you’re to work in my kitchen. Come on, put some elbow grease into it.’
Erin pushed back her hair and wiped a black smudge onto her nose from her grimy hands, rubbing energetically at the range.
‘And where is your cap?’ asked Rose. ‘The mistress’ll go spare if she sees all that hair loose.’
‘Wouldn’t put it past her to cut it off,’ said Alice. ‘She’s like that. Spiteful.’
‘I’m sorry, I left it upstairs,’ Erin apologised.
‘No good up there, dear, it wants to be on your head.’ Rose plonked herself onto her chair.
‘Shall I go and fetch it, then?
’ Erin ventured.
‘Lord, no!’ cried Rose. ‘You get that done first, we want our cup of tea.’
‘For goodness sake it’s like Bedlam in here.’ Johnson, his collar awry and a dark stubble on his chin, slouched into the kitchen and looked around him. ‘Pour me a cup of tea, girl.’ This to Erin, who looked back at him helplessly.
‘It may have escaped your notice, Mr Johnson,’ said Cook, rising to lumber about the kitchen agitatedly, ‘but there is no fire, and therefore no tea.’
‘No fire!’ roared Johnson, grabbing a ladle and whirling on Erin. ‘How will I manage to shave without my hot water? I have my duties to perform.’
‘Now, Mr Johnson, don’t go getting yourself all het up,’ pleaded Rose, pushing the manservant into a chair. ‘It won’t do no good shouting at the girl, she’s in enough of a dither without you adding to it. Erin!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t stand there gawping, get that fire seen to, else your life won’t be worth living.’
Finally the task was completed and Rose came to inspect it. ‘Well, not bad I suppose, but you’ll have to get into those corners. Look at that.’ She wiped a podgy finger along the edge of the range and showed Erin the stale grease. ‘Can’t have that in my kitchen, dear. Next thing you know we’ll be infested with beetles and rats.’
Erin cleaned the parts that she had missed and Alice, having swept the upstairs carpets and laid the table for breakfast, put the kettle on as soon as the fire was going, saying, ‘Thank God, I’m gaspin’.’
‘Sure, I’m ready for one an’ all,’ breathed Erin, edging up to the table and planting herself on a chair.
‘Nay, you haven’t time for that yet,’ cried Cook. ‘Go get a bucket from the scullery and scrub the floor and the steps. You’ve loads to do before you can even think of sitting down.’
Erin chewed her lip and went to fetch the bucket. On the previous day she had decided that she would be able to cope with the work apportioned to her, little guessing that her workload had been reduced on her first day, out of Rose’s kindness. There was scant trace of that kindness now.
‘You’ll have to buck your ideas up,’ the cook was saying sternly, scratching at her bottom which hung over the sides of the chair. ‘You can’t be washing the floor with cold water every day. First thing you do when you’ve cleaned the range is to get that fire started to heat the water, that’s top of the list every morning. No, no!’ she waved her hands at the girl’s enquiring glance. ‘You haven’t time for it to heat up now. Just get on with it.’
Erin kneeled down and began to scrub the floor, shivering as she dipped her hand into the freezing water. Soon it became numb and she no longer felt the pain when her knuckles accidentally scraped the floor. Was it going to be like this every day? she wondered, changing the brush to her other hand. If she were at home now she would still be in bed, snuggled down under the warm covers. She tried to straighten her aching back and examined her hands; they were sore and blistered from the knocks she had unwittingly received from the wainscoting whilst getting into the corners.
‘Stop daydreaming, girl!’ Rose’s sharp reprimand made her start her hasty scrubbing again.
Johnson pushed back his chair, drinking the last of his tea as he rose. ‘Right, I’ll have some of that hot water from the kettle for my ablutions!’
Erin, not realising that the man was addressing her, continued her back-breaking chore. Johnson expelled a noisy breath and snatched up the kettle from the range, sprinkling boiling water over Erin’s bare arm as he swung it round.
She screamed and leapt up. ‘Ye burnt my arm!’
‘Did you hear that, Cook?’ bayed Johnson. ‘I burnt her arm, says she. You will be most fortunate if you escape with no more than a scalded arm the way you transport yourself, for I cannot see the mistress enduring your incompetence. If you had attended to your duties properly and had the fire lit I wouldn’t have to be getting my own water.’
‘Well, ’tis not my fault if no one told me what was expected,’ replied Erin, snatching a reproving look at Alice.
‘Eh, don’t be shiftin’ t’blame onto me,’ snapped Alice. ‘If you can’t do the job right then you shouldn’t be here.’
‘Well, I wish I wasn’t,’ said Erin stubbornly.
‘Hey, we’ll have less of that cheek, girl!’ ordered Cook. ‘You’ll speak in a civil manner when addressing your betters. Now, will you kindly finish scrubbing that floor, else none of us is going to get any work done at all.’
Scowling, Erin sank to her knees and resumed her chore, her temper lending elbow grease to her arm, until the floor and steps were sparkling. This time Mrs Leng could have no cause for complaint. She rose, grimacing at her semi-paralysed knees and emptied the dirty water in the yard, then waited for Cook’s approval.
‘Right, that deserves a cup of tea,’ nodded Cook, reaching over the table for a cup. ‘If you’d just got on without antagonising Johnson we’d all be a lot happier. There you are.’ She held out the cup. ‘You have done the sitting room fire, by the way?’ Erin shook her head and reached to take the cup of tea. ‘Not yet.’
‘Oh, heavens above, child, what are you thinking of?’ Rose retrieved the cup from the child’s grasp. ‘You’d better hope and pray that her ladyship’s having a sleep-in this morning or we’ll all be for it. Go on, off you go – and mind you put on your cap first!’ she shouted after the fleeing child.
Erin shot up the stairs to her room carrying with her the bucket of cleaning implements. Once there, she pulled on her cap, tucking the black locks under it as she hastily descended the stairs.
Peeping around the sitting room door she was relieved to find the room empty and hurriedly raked the ashes through the grate. That done, she polished the hearth and set the fire. It would not light. Try as she might, every time she put light to the wood it would crackle optimistically, then promptly die.
‘Oh, please, please light,’ she begged it, seeking assistance from a pair of bellows, giving the unwilling fire a hefty blast. ‘I don’t want to get into any more trouble today.’
It took pity on her and suddenly sprang to life, the yellow flames licking hungrily around their black food. Relieved, Erin sat back on her heels and looked around the room for the first time, soaking up the luxury that surrounded her.
In the centre of the room were two armchairs and a sofa, upholstered in a rich, chocolate-coloured velvet. To one side of these, stood a small cottage piano on which were arranged numerous ornaments and photographs, a clever trap for the inexperienced duster. On the opposing wall, looking strangely out of place in the oppressive room with its dark red walls and tasselled drapes, was a writing bureau, its delicate marquetry providing a welcome relief from the rest of the heavily-carved mahogany furniture.
On the walls hung giant pictures of the Royal family in varying poses and ensembles. Erin thought it rather amusing to see the Queen frowning through the forest of potted palms and aspidistras that obscured her majestical gaze. Above the mantelpiece of the ornately-carved fireplace was a very large mirror in gilded frame, and on the mantelpiece itself, between two clownish pot dogs, were more photographs.
Erin rose and, wiping her hands down her apron, selected one of the pictures that had caught her eye. The beautiful woman stared back at her coldly from the silver frame. This must be the mistress, Caroline had told Erin how lovely she was and she had been right. What lovely hair she had, and look at the necklace she wore, she was like a princess.
‘If you are thinking to steal that I would advise against it.’
Erin spun round. The photograph slipped from her grasp and its glass shattered on the hearth.
Helena Cummings swept into the room in an aura of perfumed loveliness, the skirt of her hooped, plum-coloured gown swaying from side to side. She was in the foulest of moods. This morning she had received from her current lover, Walter, a touching epistle which had assured her of his undying love but told her that unfortunately he was to be given a posting in India and therefore they would
be unable to spend any more turbulent afternoons together. In point of fact he was extremely grateful for the posting; it had given him the excuse he had needed to put an end to her cloying affections without incurring her wrath.
Helena was none too pleased; it meant a period of boring frustration until she found a replacement.
‘I wasn’t thinking to steal it, ma’am, honest.’ Erin’s blue eyes dilated as the woman advanced upon her. ‘I was only looking at it ’cause I thought you were so pretty.’
The flattery cut no ice with Helena; she took it for granted that people found her beautiful. ‘Who gave you permission to touch my possessions?’
‘Noone, ma’am,’ whispered Erin, then explained, ‘I’m the new maid. I came in to light the fire, I didn’t think anyone’d mind.’
‘Oh, you did not?’ said Helena loftily. ‘Then you were mistaken. As to the fire, why was this task not completed at the correct hour?’
‘I’m ever so sorry, ma’am. What with me being new I didn’t know…’
The repetition of Erin’s excuse sharpened Helena’s suspicion. Could this child’s appearance be somehow connected with that woman’s visit yesterday?
‘What is your name?’
‘Erin Feeney, ma’am.’ Erin stooped to pick up the pieces of broken glass from the frame. ‘An’ I’m really sorry about breaking this.’
Helena ignored the apology. ‘Well, in future, Feeney, I shall expect this fire to be well-established when I come down to breakfast. Also you will refrain from touching any object in this room other than when it requires dusting. Do I makfc myself clear?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Very well. Before you depart maybe this will serve to emphasise my words.’ Quite without warning her hand shot out and caught Erin sharply on the cheek, making her drop the photograph with a little cry.
A Long Way from Heaven Page 45
