And in answer to this, Sarah said, ‘Aye, do that: write and tell him that I’m pulling beer behind a bar and you’re playing the piano to the men sloshing it down.’
Seven
The magic of that day was soon to evaporate. After running joyfully through the rain, Sarah, being the hardier of the two, avoided suffering from being soaked to the skin, but Marie Anne developed such a cold as to cause her to stay in bed; and on the advice of Annie a doctor was called. But she warned Sarah that he’d likely charge them two shillings: he would recognise straight away Marie Anne would be in a position to pay more than he normally charged his Ramsay Court patients.
It was as Annie foretold: the doctor did charge two shillings; but he was also very kind, and only slightly curious about her condition and why she was living in such a place.
It was a week before Christmas. Marie Anne was up and about; she hadn’t dared risk going out into the murky days and foggy nights, for she was still coughing. Nearly two months had passed since the Daily Reporter had taken her drawings and she had had no word from them, and although she still relieved the monotony of her days with drawing, she was becoming very bored and somewhat irritable, her only light relief being Annie’s children, particularly the older ones. They would bring up their coloured paper from which they would make chains to decorate the house. And at such times Marie Anne would sketch them, much to their delight. When she gave them funny faces, Maureen would tease the boys, saying, ‘Oh! that’s you,’ and they would come back at her, ‘Aye well, our Maureen, we haven’t got buck teeth.’ And such repartee lightened the dark days in the garret flat, for dark they were, until one morning Sarah sat bolt upright in the bed and, pointing to a chink in the curtains, she cried, ‘I think the sun’s out.’ Jumping up, she pulled the curtains back and, turning a bright face to Marie Anne, who was now rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she said, ‘Look, the sun! Isn’t it marvellous! It’s days and days since we’ve seen it. Come on, get yourself up; you can go out today all right. And we’ll give ourselves a treat: we’ll have a bite at Ernie’s and you can play the piano again. You never took up their offer and I’m sure they’ve been wondering why. Come on now, get a move on.’
Marie Anne got up; but she was finding it rather difficult in the mornings to put a move on, she wasn’t feeling too good, sort of weak, such as she had never felt in her life before and she was finding this difficult to handle. She was having to do what she called push herself.
But this morning she gladly pushed herself. After breakfast and the beastly chores done, they stood in the room ready to go out. Sarah had pulled the collar of Marie Anne’s coat well up at the back and under her hat, and when she tucked the scarf into the front of her coat Marie Anne exclaimed, ‘That’s it! Go on, choke me. Why are we going to Paddy’s first? We’ve got everything.’
‘We haven’t got everything. Have we got a cradle?’
‘Oh…no, but—’
‘Yes, but. Well, there’s little chance of us getting a cradle but we can get a decent sized wash-basket and a couple of flat pillows, and instead of using your pencil during the next few weeks you could cover them into nice little bed ticks, and the basket an’ all with a frill or two. And don’t hang your head like that, girl, every time it’s mentioned. It’s more than half there’—she tapped Marie Anne’s stomach—‘and it’ll come; and he or she will be lovely and we’ll be a family.’
Even as she was saying this, she could hear her mother’s voice crying, ‘One more mouth to be fed and Dailey won’t keep me scrubbin’ job open, not him, the ungrateful bugger, and all the work I’ve done for him,’ and she thought, Poor Ma; but she got through, and so will we. Then cryptically added, But how, in the name of God, as yet I don’t know!
‘What are you thinking, Sarah?’
‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Yes, you were. I always know.’
‘You know too much, but come on: let us to the Emporium go, not by a chariot that is too slow, but on wings of love.’
At this and on a laugh Marie Anne pushed Sarah against the door, saying, ‘I didn’t read it like that; you would mangle it, wouldn’t you? Anyway you shouldn’t pick up second-hand poetry books, for you’ve always told me you can’t stand poetry.’
‘Nor can I. Come on!’
Mr O’Connell greeted them as if they were old friends and at once supplied them with a large, clean wash-basket, two pillows, and even extra linen cases for them. But the bargain of the morning was nearly half a bale of printed cotton, all of fifteen yards left on it, he said, and all for two shillings, which meant that the bale had cost him one and six. But as he pointed out to them, he had been getting tuppence ha’penny a yard for it, and when Sarah came back, saying, ‘That must have been in the year dot,’ he retorted as he usually did when stuck for words, ‘Just as you say, miss. Just as you say.’ And when Sarah asked if he would look after their purchases until they returned as they were going to Ernie Everton’s for a bite, he sent them both away laughing with the words: ‘Paddy’s Emporium at your service, missis; and have a pie and peas for me.’
It being just after eleven o’clock there were very few people seated at the tables and a couple of men and a woman at the bar counter. But besides Mrs Everton, there was a very smartly dressed but peevish-looking young woman serving.
Immediately she saw them, Mrs Everton called, ‘Well, well now! We haven’t seen you for some time. We thought—’
‘She’s been ill in bed, Mrs Everton. She’s had a very bad chest cold.’
Mrs Everton looked at Marie Anne and, shaking her head, she said, ‘Oh I’m sorry, I’m sorry to hear that; but we did wonder. I suppose you would like a ding-dong?’ She had poked her head across the counter towards Marie Anne, and Marie Anne said, ‘I would indeed, Mrs Everton, if it’s all right with you.’
‘It’s more than all right, dear. We’d all be very pleased to hear you again. We’ve talked about you a lot. But are you going to eat first?’
Marie Anne and Sarah exchanged glances, and it was Sarah who replied, ‘She would rather play first, but I’ll eat now.’
‘Good enough. Good enough.’
As Marie Anne made for the piano, Sarah said, ‘I’ll have sausage and mash today.’
‘And what about a bit of liver with it?’
‘Oh yes, thank you.’
At the piano Marie Anne flexed her fingers before she ran them lovingly over the keys. Softly the scales went up and down, forming themselves into what sounded like a composition. Then quite softly she began to play …
As Mrs Everton blew down the order, a man came up to the counter and was greeted straight away by her: ‘Oh, hello; you’re back then?’ she said.
‘Yes, Mrs Everton, I’m back.’
‘Well, well; nice to see you. The usual?’
‘Yes, the usual, all of half a mild.’
‘Shippin’ order comin’ up,’ and she laughed as she drew the half pint of ale; then as she pushed it across the counter to him, she enquired, ‘For how long this time?’
‘Oh, I go back in the New Year.’
‘Been workin’ hard in the meantime?’
‘Yes. Yes, indeed: the Brothers are hard taskmasters.’
‘They always were, and they know how many beans make five. Is old Brother Percival still wielding his hammer and chisel?’
‘As much as ever, Mrs Everton. Yes, as much as ever.’
She watched the man drink half the glass of ale before she said, ‘By! They don’t half know how to charge for those pieces, which must be nearly all yours, you know, ’cos I should imagine he’s beyond it now, ninety if he’s a day.’
‘Oh no, no, no. He’s working on some quite big stuff in the back. It’s only the little odds and ends that are mine.’
‘Huh! I wish I had enough money to buy just a couple of your odds and ends.’
‘Oh now, now, Mrs Everton, they don’t charge that much.’
‘Oh, they do at that. As it is said, it’s
because of the dealers. They come there and would buy up the lot if the Brothers let them. They’ve got wily heads, those Brothers in there. I was always surprised when you didn’t become one of them.’
‘I was myself, Mrs Everton. They tried hard enough, but I haven’t the qualities to make a good Brother, I’m too worldly.’
She laughed at him now, saying, ‘Go on with you. You? Worldly? D’you like where you’re livin’ now?’
‘Very much, very much indeed.’
‘You’ve got a workshop?’
‘Everything. Everything to hand.’
‘I heard they tried to stop you going, and that it was only because you promised to bring your odds and ends, as you call them, twice a year that you got free.’
‘Nonsense; nonsense, Mrs Everton. The Brothers were only too pleased to be rid of me. But seriously, I’ve a lot to thank the Brothers for. They were all fathers and mothers to me. As you know I was brought up by them and thankful that I was.’
There was a sound of a whistle blowing and the food lift behind Mrs Everton came into view bearing Sarah’s meal. And when Mrs Everton placed it on the counter the man said, ‘Oh that does look nice; I wouldn’t mind one of those myself, Mrs Everton.’
‘Well, you shall have it, sir, you shall have it,’ and she turned to order it, and the man, now turning towards the piano called over his shoulder to Mrs Everton, ‘Who’s that playing? You’re going up in the music world, aren’t you, Mrs Everton?’
As she turned back to the counter Mrs Everton answered, ‘Oh, it’s just now and again we have the pleasure of that one’s talents. She’s a friend of Miss Foggerty here.’
Sarah and the man looked at each other, she straight into his face. He said, ‘She plays beautifully.’
‘Yes, she does,’ Sarah responded as she walked to a near table to eat her meal. She recognised this man—she had heard of him from Annie—the Brother with half a face. He was wearing a kind of mask. It was as if half his head was strapped in a dark brown cotton scarf with a white lining. His large slouch hat could only, of course, cover up one side of his face from the corner of the right eye, just visible under the hat, past his high cheekbone, and slant-wise across the cheek, just missing his mouth, then to his chin, disappearing into the top of his white shirt.
Annie had said he must have been scalded when he was a child; others that it was a birthmark. However, this was discredited, for surely you could never have a birthmark as large as that. But he had wonderful hands, Annie said; she had seen some of the things he had made on sale at the bazaar the Brothers held twice a year. It was a strange kind of bazaar. Most of it was given over to second-hand clothes, second-hand books, second-hand boots and handmade items that the parishioners had donated and which were very rarely sold, because who was going to pay one and six a pair for hand-knitted socks when you could knit a pair yourself for sixpence. But then there was what was called the sculpture stall. Old Brother Percival had been a noted sculptor in his day, and since he had come into the Brotherhood they had profited by it. The Brothers also ran a small private school.
It was said that the tall fellow standing at the counter had been handed a chisel when he was three years old, by Brother Percival, and he had never been allowed to drop it since, and how old was he now? She gave a guess. Thirty, she imagined.
He was walking towards the platform when the whistle blew again and he returned to the counter, and after paying for his meal took it to Sarah’s table and asked her, ‘Would you mind if I sat with you?’
‘Not at all. Not at all. You’re welcome.’
After seating himself, he looked towards the platform again, saying, ‘Your friend plays beautifully. Indeed she does.’
From where he was sitting he could see only her back, and he further remarked, ‘She’s young. Is she training at a music academy?’
‘Er, no; not now. She was, but…but she had to leave.’
‘Oh, that is a pity.’
He started to eat his meal and was halfway through a sausage when he stopped and, again looking towards the platform, he said, ‘That’s Liszt, and very difficult to play.’
‘D’you play the piano?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I used to try the organ when I was in the priory. You heard what Mrs Everton said’—he nodded towards the counter—‘I was brought up by the Brothers.’
‘I know that.’ She smiled at him.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Annie Pollock’s sister. She lives in Ramsay Court.’ She watched his eyes widen and his eyebrows rise under the rim of his soft felt hat; and now his mouth went into a wide smile, and in so doing crinkled the cloth mask here and there into ridges as he said, ‘The Pollocks of Ramsay court, the bane of Father Broadside. Your sister committed the unforgivable sin of marrying a Protestant, didn’t she? One Arthur Pollock. Oh, how I remember the time.’
Sarah was now laughing openly. ‘So do I,’ she said. ‘He was never off the doorstep. But he always managed to get there when Arthur was out and heap coals of hell fire on Annie’s head; worse than Father Weir. At first, she was scared of him, but she toughened up as time went on.’ Then, the smile leaving her face, she said, ‘And you know—or perhaps you don’t, not being a Brother or a priest yourself—they can cause just one hell of a lot of trouble in a marriage. Naturally, Arthur insisted on the children going to a Protestant school; he wasn’t going to pay a penny or tuppence a week at the nuns’ place along the street.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. In his case I can understand that. I argued against it once and was told I was a renegade and was given a stiff penance. Not by the Brothers, oh no; they are moderate men, all of them. No; it was our good Father Broadside.’
He made her smile again when he said, ‘You know, in a naval battle the big guns shoot broadsides through the side of the ship, and Brother Percival used to swear that Father Broadside was never born in the ordinary way but through such a broadside. Oh yes, he is a hard man; and yes, so very bigoted.’ And they smiled and nodded at each other in agreement. And now turning his attention to his meal, he said, ‘There’s always good food to be got here, isn’t there?’
‘I’ve only come to know it lately,’ Sarah answered.
The sound of applause made them both turn to look towards the platform. Marie Anne had stopped playing and the other customers were showing their appreciation.
It was as Marie Anne made her way to the counter, where Mrs Everton was waiting to take her order, that the man almost sprang to his feet, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to step forward, but he remained staring at the young girl at the counter.
It was evident that she was carrying a child, the bulge, as yet not very large, being nevertheless noticeable. Then, as Marie Anne, with her plate of pie and peas, turned from the counter the man’s bottom jaw dropped just the slightest. As for Marie Anne, she did not look fully at him until she reached the table, when he held out his chair to her, saying, ‘Take this; I can get another,’ and for a moment she was startled. She did not know why. Although the man was wearing that big hat and with half his face muffled up, he looked odd; and there was definitely something else making her feel uneasy. Then there was his voice. He did not speak like a Londoner, or anyone she knew of. It was obviously an educated voice, a distinct voice, one she seemed to remember.
‘You’ve chosen pie and peas,’ Sarah was saying; ‘you should’ve tried the sausage and mash today, with some liver thrown in; it was lovely.’
The man drew up a chair for himself, the uncovered side of his face visible to Marie Anne, and she was very conscious that his gaze was centred on her. Sarah, too, was aware of this, and so, leaning across to Marie Anne, she said, ‘What d’you think? This gentleman and I have something in common: we both know Father Broadside, the priest I told you about who used to chase Annie and raise the house on a Monday morning if she hadn’t been to Mass. If he couldn’t save the souls of her children he was determined to save hers. Well, this gentleman, here, was brought up by
the Brothers in the priory, just along the street here, and he had heard all about Annie and her brood and the two priests trying to save her soul.’
Marie Anne now turned and smiled at the man and, merely out of politeness, asked, ‘Are you a Brother at the priory?’
‘No, no. As I have to tell people, I have none of the virtues that go to make a good Brother, so they threw me out. But I return twice a year to visit them and bring odds and ends for them to sell.’
‘He’s a sculptor—’ Sarah was leaning across the table again towards Marie Anne, and she added, ‘and he’s noted all about for his work. There’s going to be a show of it tomorrow; we’ll go and see.’
He turned to her, smiling again, saying, ‘I haven’t your name, miss.’
‘Foggerty.’
‘Well, Miss Foggerty, the Brothers wouldn’t thank you for aiming to make me vain about my small talents.’ Then he laughed outright as he added, ‘But go on, for I can tell you on the quiet you get very little of it in a priory, at least openly. Behind your back they’ll say kind words, but to your face they’ll remind you that your talent is only loaned from God, and that in a way it’s got nothing to do with you, that you’re only working to instructions.’
His laughter was light and merry, and both Sarah and Marie Anne joined in. Then rising from his chair, he asked, ‘Will I be seeing you at the bazaar tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes, yes, we’ll drop in,’ Sarah said, ‘but not, let me tell you, to buy your expensive animals and such.’
‘What a shame! What a shame! We are very much in need of money.’ He was laughing as he spoke; then touching his hat to both of them he went to the counter and had a word with Mrs Everton before walking smartly out.
The Branded Man Page 16
