‘God’s slipped up many a time,’ Sarah remarked, ‘but in putting a mark on that fellow He did a bad day’s work, even if He did give him a clever pair of hands.’
The next morning the sun wasn’t shining and the sky appeared so low it could have been resting on the chimney pots, and as Marie Anne and Sarah emerged from the cut which would bring them to the priory Marie Anne shivered and pulled her coat tighter about her, which caused Sarah to say, ‘I’ve told you, you’ll have to buy a bigger coat than that. That single breasted’s no good to you now and the second-hand shop I told you about isn’t a rag stall; it sells very good pieces.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Marie Anne rather sharply; ‘we’ll do as you say some time later, but at the moment we’re going to the bazaar and we’ll be expected to buy something there.’
‘We will not, and just you remember that, miss, unless it’s a book that’s going for a copper. That statement of his yesterday that they were in need of money is all my eye. Those Brothers must be rolling in it, and it’s mostly made, I’m sure, from his and Brother Percival’s work. You heard what Annie said last night, that come Christmas and June, thereabouts, his bag’s loaded with stuff. Apparently he comes by train from wherever he lives and loads his bag into a cab. Shane used to do odd jobs for the Brothers. No pay; oh no, everything must be voluntary. Anyway, as Annie said, the other day Shane saw a number of bags and wooden boxes being unloaded from the cab.’
‘It seems to prove one thing,’ said Marie Anne; ‘he must have been quite happy being brought up among them and so his two trips a year are a form of repaying them in some way, I suppose.’ …
Inside the gardens of the priory a number of stalls were set out under a canvas awning and at the back, near the wall, was a long table upon which was arrayed a large assortment, in marble, of animals, birds and reptiles and, in wood, of ornamental candlesticks, cigar boxes and ladies’ vanity trays. At each end of the table was the carving of a figure, holding a lamp aloft. One was of a beautifully formed young woman, the other of a young man with the body of an athlete. Each was mounted on a plinth carved out of stone, of the colour of bleached rock.
When Marie Anne stopped in front of the female figure, the Brother behind the table approached her and remarked, ‘It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’
Marie Anne smiled into the round red face and replied, ‘Yes, very beautiful. They’re a beautiful pair.’ She turned to look towards the other end of the table. ‘Were they carved here?’
The Brother recognised the tone of her voice and, sensing he might have a customer, he said, ‘No; our dear friend Don McAlister’—he pointed towards the bookstall where the man she had met yesterday was obviously discussing a book with a customer—‘he made them in his workshop, and he’ll tell you all about them and why, himself. I’ll bring him across.’
‘Oh no, please don’t bother. I…I have met Mr’—she paused—‘McAlister.’
‘Oh! Then you know of his work?’
‘Not really. I made his acquaintance only yesterday.’
‘Only yesterday?’
She nodded.
‘Ah, then,’ he poked his finger at her chest now as he went on in a high and excited voice, ‘are you the young lady who played the piano so beautifully in Ernie Everton’s Eating House?’
‘Yes; yes, I am. Well, I played the piano, but I don’t know about beautifully.’
‘He said you did, and he has an ear for music. Oh’—he slapped the side of his head—‘that is an exaggeration, if not a lie. He had an ear for the organ and used to deafen us.’ He looked over her head now, saying, ‘Oh! Here you are then. I’m just speaking the truth about you for once. You met this young lady yesterday, I believe.’
Marie Anne turned and faced the odd man, as she thought of him.
He was smiling at her and saying, ‘Good day, Miss Foggerty.’
She could never get used to being called Foggerty, but she answered him with a smile as she said, ‘I was admiring the beautiful lamp.’
‘And Brother John here has persuaded you to buy it? He’s only asking twenty pounds.’
‘We haven’t mentioned money yet, and it’s twenty-two pounds. It’s only twenty each if you take the pair.’
‘Well, what’s forty pounds? Would you like them wrapped up now or shall I send them by horse-bus?’
She laughed outright while wondering how he could joke, situated as he was with seemingly only part of a face.
‘Ah, and here’s Miss Sarah coming. I bet she’s bought the other one.’
‘What’s all this I heard about buying?’ asked Sarah.
‘Well, Miss Foggerty, Father John here has persuaded your sister to buy a lamp. It’s only twenty-two pounds, but if you’d like the other one as well, he’d let you have them for forty.’
‘Now that is kind of him,’ said Sarah, her voice serious. ‘But we’ll take them only on the condition that you send them to my sister Annie’s flat in Ramsay Court and have Father Broadside go and bless them.’
The deep laughter of the two men mingled with Sarah’s, but Marie Anne only smiled. There was something about this big man that was making her feel uneasy. It wasn’t that she felt afraid of him—well, not really—but he reminded her of someone, or something. She moved away from them to further along the table, the while shaking her head at the wonder of the scales on a crocodile’s back and at an elephant not more than two inches high with a young one by its side and which looked to have been carved in ivory. There were blue tits, too, and an eagle, the latter with its wings half spread, as though about to take off from the table. Then there was the rearing horse. It was about five inches high and carved from a dark wood.
Her fingers were touching it when Don McAlister’s voice at her side said, ‘I like him too.’
She was slightly startled and when he picked up the piece and held it towards her, he said, ‘It’s bog oak. It’s beautiful stuff to work with, but difficult at times, because just as you’re finishing it, your fingers seem to tremble. It’s as if something from the earth is saying, Why can’t you leave me alone; that knife of yours is sharp, you know.’
Marie Anne stared at him unsmilingly. She felt a wave of irritation for him sweep over her. Yes, that was the feeling he aroused in her; irritation. It was his manner; his constant manner of making light of things. He was either quipping or quoting someone. It was as if he felt he had to be entertaining, but why? Why, looking as he did? Perhaps the reason was because he looked as he did.
With a sudden swift but careful movement he placed the rearing horse back onto its small stand; then turning to her again, he said, ‘If you will excuse me,’ and quickly disappeared through a flap at the end of the awning.
Sarah approached, saying, ‘Seen anything you like?’
After a moment Marie Anne pointed to the rearing horse. ‘Yes, I like that,’ she said. ‘I would like to have it and send it to my grandpa for Christmas.’
Sarah picked up the rearing horse, read the tag on the back, and replaced it on its stand, saying, ‘Come on. You can forget it; it’s five pounds.’
And with this she gripped Marie Anne’s arm and turned her about, only to find her hand thrust away and to hear Marie Anne, in a low commanding tone, saying, ‘Don’t pull at me!’
Surprised and feeling repulsed by this attitude, Sarah moved quietly ahead and out of the gardens. Marie Anne followed her, and they were going through the passage again when she caught up with her and said, ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I acted like that. Oh yes, I do; it was that man. He irritates me.’
Sarah stopped and turned and looked hard at Marie Anne: ‘Mr Don McAlister irritates you?’ she said. ‘Why? How? You’ve only met him the twice and he’s been a most pleasant and agreeable person. If you ask me, we could do with more of his company. Irritates you? How does he irritate you?’
‘Sarah—’ Marie Anne’s voice was low and her words came slowly, ‘I don’t know, but he gives me a most s
trange feeling. I can’t explain it. I…I can only tell you that when I first looked at him I was startled. Why I should have been, I don’t know.’
‘Just because his face is scarred in some way?’
‘No; not really. I tell you, I don’t know.’
Sarah sighed; then her voice changing, she said, ‘Oh, come on with you. They say when a woman’s pregnant she doesn’t know which end of her’s up. I tell you what: we’ll call in on Annie. She’ll likely have a pot of mutton broth on. He’s expected home tonight. I hope he’s as sober as when he came last time. Then he was so sober and civil I thought he must have joined the Band of Hope.’…
As soon as they entered Annie’s room, she greeted them with, ‘A letter came for you, miss.’
‘For me, a letter?’ Marie Anne turned on Sarah a sharp look which said, Who knows I’m here?
Annie took the envelope from the mantelpiece and handed it to Marie Anne.
Again she exchanged a look with Sarah; but, even as she did so Sarah exclaimed loudly, ‘I know! I know who it’s from. Open it, woman!’
Marie Anne slit open the envelope, took out a sheet of paper, and read:
Dear Miss Foggerty,
If you would care to call at this office on the third of January we could discuss using more of your work. Perhaps a series of the family of children. We did not have an immediate response to the cartoons, but just lately there have been some requests for more of the ‘manners’ type of cartoon, depicting the children at the table.
Hoping that this suggestion meets favourably with you.
Yours truly
John Stokes, Editor.
Marie Anne now turned and threw her arms around Sarah, saying, ‘I’ve got it! I mean, I’ve got the work. There, read that.’ And turning to Annie, she said, ‘I took some of my drawings to a newspaper. They want more for next year.’
‘Oh, I’m glad, miss. Oh, I am. Now you’ll feel more settled and at ease, with something coming in. Oh, and it’ll fill your time.’
‘As for me,’ put in Sarah, ‘I can now go and pull pints at Ernie’s, knowing that you’re not sittin’ up there moping.’
‘Sarah’—Marie Anne turned to her appealingly now—‘I could get that horse now, couldn’t I, to send my grandpa? I…I know it’s five pounds, but we’ll soon be earning.’
‘Yes, I know that, me dear, but five pounds is a lot of money. Anyway, you can have your horse, but you’re not going round there to get it; I’ll get it and for less than five pounds.’
‘Oh no! Don’t bargain with them.’
‘Don’t bargain with them?’ Sarah turned to Annie now. ‘Did you hear her? Don’t bargain with the Brothers! Jews are nothing in it, are they? The Holy Catholic Church puts them in the shade every day when it comes to rakin’ money in. They’d skin a louse for its hide. Don’t bargain with them, she said. Have you any soup goin’, Annie?’
‘Don’t I always have soup goin’ on a Saturday?’
‘Well, give her a basinful, will you, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ And at this Sarah went out; but her lightness of manner had changed even before she reached the bottom of the last flight. Five pounds! If she got it for four that would bring her stock down from ten pounds to six, and she had another good four months to go yet. She seemed to think that her drawings were going to make a fortune; if she were to sell two a week that would bring her in only ten shillings. And then there was the child. How did she expect to manage with a baby up on that top floor? Of course, Annie had managed her brood just on the floor below, but she was a different kettle of fish. She and Annie had been brought up in a different school altogether from that girl. Then there would be the doctor and the midwife to be paid.
Oh, let her have her damned horse and send it off to her grandfather, if that would make her feel happy. Well, perhaps as happy as she could be under the circumstances …
Quite a number of people were still in the garden.
She made her way to the long table and immediately saw the tall man talking to two others. She didn’t want to be served by one of the Brothers; she could talk to Mr McAlister, for she felt he had taken an interest in Marie Anne, perhaps recognising her to be of a different class from herself. She could hear him saying, ‘Not a penny less, for you know, and I know, that the price will be doubled once it reaches Regent Street or somewhere like it.’
‘You’re a difficult man to deal with.’
‘These are difficult things to make.’
‘Brother Percival said he would meet us halfway.’
‘That was because Brother Percival knows as much about business as I do about ballet dancing. Anyway, there it is, take it or leave it. The five pieces you have chosen are forty pounds, no more, no less, and if you don’t want them it doesn’t matter, because Stevens will be in before the day is over and he has the same taste as yourselves.’
‘You needn’t keep on; we get your point. Pack them up.’
Sarah watched each piece being carefully wrapped and laid in a cardboard box, and while one man placed the boxes in a flat basket the other grinned as he handed over the money, saying, ‘Happy Christmas, and we’ll see you again in the summer, or thereabouts.’
‘Yes; if God designs.’
The men went away laughing as they repeated, ‘Aye, if God designs.’
Don McAlister had noted that Sarah was waiting as if she wanted to speak to him, and so, approaching her, he said, ‘You back again? You’re going to buy the lamps?’
Sarah smiled as she said, ‘That’ll be the day. No; she has her heart set on that horse’—she pointed along the table—‘but at five pounds, oh my, no, we could never run to that! So I wondered if you had another like it; what they call seconds.’ Up till then she hadn’t thought any such thing, but now she went on, ‘Just a bit faulted or something. You used to sell pieces like that at one time, if I remember; a little chip off that could hardly be seen.’
He bent down to her now and in a low voice he said, ‘Miss Foggerty, Ireland has lost a fine diplomat by not using you before this.’
‘Away with you!’ She flapped her hand at him. ‘Diplomacy bunkum. I’m just statin’ a fact. You did used to sell marred ones, didn’t you?’
‘That was a long time ago.’ He chuckled as he stretched out his arm and picked up the horse. ‘Who does she want it for; some child?’ He had his back to her.
‘No, no; she’s got a very fond grandfather and she wants to give him a present.’
He turned quickly towards her. ‘You say she’s got a grandfather? Then why …?’
‘Oh, I can’t go into it; it’s a long story; I can only say that if I had my way she’d be back with her grandfather this minute, because she doesn’t realise what’s ahead of her. You know the Courts don’t you? Well, we’re on the top floor. But we’ve got it comfortable, mind. Paddy’s Emporium’s been a godsend.’
‘Oooh! Paddy’s Emporium. What would this district have done all these years without Paddy’s Emporium? But tell me, does the grandfather know where she is?’
‘My! No; of course not.’
‘Has he never known her address?’
‘Yes, at one time…Look! It’s a long story, Mr McAlister, and it’s her business and I’m not goin’ into it. I’ll only say this. Most of the English rich are cruel, heartless buggers, and I hope they burn in hell.’
He was grinning at her again as he said, ‘What about the Irish rich?’
‘Oh, there’s not enough of them to matter. Anybody that owns anything in Ireland is English.’
His laugh was ringing out again and, pointing to a Brother at the end of the table, he said, ‘As Brother John is apt to say, you do me heart good, Miss Foggerty; and as for this animal here’—he was now stroking the rearing back of the little horse—‘it does have a fault. You see that hoof, the higher one? Well, look closely, it’s much bigger than the other one. They don’t match, do they?’
Sarah stared at the prancing hooves; then, her eyes twinkling, she looked
up at him, saying, ‘You’re right. You’re right, Mr McAlister. It’s what you would call half an inch less.’ Then she added on a low giggle, ‘How long is half an inch?’
Don McAlister rubbed his eyes with one hand as he said, ‘How about two pounds long, Miss Foggerty?’
‘Oh! Thank you. Thanks. That’s good of you.’
He now stretched out his other hand and, picking up a small carving from the table, he handed it to her, saying, ‘This isn’t a Christmas box; it’s just a little gift from me to you for being a very good friend to one in need.’
For a moment Sarah stood speechless as she looked down on the piece lying in the palm of her hand, and she thought: It’s a black beetle. She hated black beetles. Somewhat choked, she now asked, ‘What kind of beetle is it?’
‘It’s what they call a scarab. The ancient Egyptians prized it very highly. They thought it would help them to come back after death. It’s…it’s considered to be very lucky.’
Her fingers now closed gently over the beetle as she said, ‘Well, we’re badly in need of that at the moment—luck, I mean—so thank you very much indeed. And it could be lucky at that, because this is the second good thing that has happened to us in an hour. You see, when we got back to the Courts she found a letter. It was from a newspaper. They’re going to take her on; well, take one or two of her drawings each week, I think. She draws what you would call caricatures. They’re marvellous and very funny.’
‘Really! She draws caricatures? How old is she?’
Sarah turned her head away; then with a shrug of her shoulders she said, ‘She’s eighteen to everybody who asks, but she’s really only sixteen.’
He made no response, but continued to stare at her enquiringly until she spoke as if he had accused her of something, saying, ‘I can’t help it. I’ve talked to her till me mouth’s dry and told her what would be best for her.’
The Branded Man Page 17
