‘Fancy getting rid of a lovely animal like that,’ Joe muttered darkly into his mug.
A horrible image occurred to Beata, who asked what he meant.
‘People get fed up of their dogs and cats and take them there to be killed. Look, there’s one.’
The rest of the children looked in horrified fascination at the scene across the road. Sure enough, a small ginger pelt was being handled by one of the men.
Thoughtfully, Beata probed her ginger pudding. Coming across another glob of suet she offered it to the white mongrel, who almost took her hand off.
‘Poor thing,’ she muttered, shaking her throbbing finger. ‘Isn’t he thin?’
There was murmured agreement, none of them seeming aware that they were almost as underfed as the dog.
It was time to go back to school. The animal started to follow them, then realizing they had nothing for it to eat, took a sniffing detour into the tannery.
‘Don’t go in there!’ Beata caught hold of its filthy coat.
‘Why don’t we take him home?’ suggested Duke.
It seemed such an easy solution to shove the dog through the front door and leave it to its own devices whilst they went on to school.
However, when they came home a horrible stench was to meet them.
‘Aw, he’s shit all over t’house!’ exclaimed Joe, after first laughing, examining the sole of his boot in disgust.
Wagging its tail in greeting, the dog seemed to be proud of its handiwork, having trodden the excrement into every downstairs room.
‘Clean it up, Beat,’ ordered Madeleine.
Her sister argued but, naturally, no one else wanted the chore and it was left to Beata who was still scrubbing the carpet with disinfectant when Augusta came home.
After exclaiming over the stench and throwing open the windows, their eldest sister demanded, ‘What’s that blasted creature doing in the house?’
‘We had to fetch him home,’ explained Joe. ‘The men at the tannery might have got him.’
‘That moth-eaten cur? They wouldn’t even get a decent pair of gloves out of his pelt. It’s probably riddled with flea holes! You can count every bone in his body.’ Then Augusta’s eyes fell on the plate on the sideboard, which should have contained their tea and now bore only a crescent of pastry at one side. ‘Lord save us, it’s eaten the rabbit pie!’
Beata spoke optimistically. ‘It’s left a bit.’
‘Only because it couldn’t get at it!’ An appalled Augusta examined the remnant of pastry which bore the imprint of desperate teethmarks where the dog had struggled for that which was just out of reach to him.
Even as she spoke another outrage came to light, Augusta becoming almost demented by the sight of a bin with its lid knocked off. ‘Oh no – he’s eaten every bit of bread in the house!’
To cries of dismay the dog was ejected from the end of her foot through the empty shop into the street.
‘Stinky old Gusset!’ sulked Mims at her sister’s cruelty.
‘Aw, can’t we keep him?’ wailed Duke.
Augusta turned on them in tearful fury. ‘Are you all daft? We’ve hardly got enough money to feed ourselves and you let an animal in to eat what little we have got! What am I going to tell Father when he comes in expecting his tea?’ Rushing to the larder she cast a frantic eye over the poorly stocked shelves, in her panic grabbing anything that came to hand, dried peas, flour, pepper … ‘I’ll just have to make a soup!’
‘We had that for dinner,’ grumbled Madeleine.
‘Well, you can have it again!’
By the time Probyn got home there was some kind of a meal on the table, though what kind it was hard to tell. Nevertheless he felt sorry for his obviously harassed eldest daughter. ‘That smells good, Gus.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘But isn’t it a bit cold to have the windows wide open?’
Face glowing from her efforts, Augusta dashed a lock of hair from her brow and glanced darkly at her siblings. ‘You wouldn’t be saying it smelled so nice if I hadn’t had them open, Father.’ And she told him all about the catastrophe with the dog, ending with the explanation, ‘That’s why it’s pot luck for tea. I’m sorry.’
Probyn was stern with the others. ‘Don’t you think your sister’s got enough to cope with, going to work and looking after you, without a blessed dog?’
‘It was just so thin, Father,’ reasoned Beata.
‘And we were worried the men at the tannery were going to kill it,’ added Joe.
Probyn only half shared their sentiment. ‘Aye well, it’s not nice, I know, but might it not be better for it to be disposed of swiftly instead of being kicked out to slowly starve because its owner can’t afford the licence? It takes money to look after a dog, that’s why there’s so many wandering the streets. Their owners can’t afford to keep them and neither can we – so don’t go bringing any more animals home.’
With Clem coming in at this juncture the meal was dished out.
Mims raised her spoon, then spoke through what felt like a mouthful of pebbles. ‘I don’t like it.’
Neither did Probyn, nor anyone else judging from the half-hearted manner in which they partook of the meal; the peas were insufficiently cooked and it was like chewing gravel; but he saw the tears of embarrassment in Augusta’s eyes and fought to appear as if he himself was enjoying the meal. ‘Eat up!’ His face was unusually cross. ‘Your sister’s had to go to a great deal of trouble all because you allowed the dog to eat our tea, so don’t let me hear another grumble!’
After making a small effort to chew the mouthful, Mims’ face crumpled into tears. At Probyn’s sound of despair, Augusta immediately went to hoist Mims from her chair. ‘I’ll see to her, Father, you get on with our tea.’ She tried to lead the youngest child away but, angry with grief over her mother’s death, Mims jerked free. ‘I don’t want you, I want my mother!’
Clem put his face in his hands as the other siblings were infected by Mims’ tears. ‘For Christ’s sake…’
Unable to console Mims, Augusta was almost in tears herself, but managed to coax the desolate child into another room so that the others could get on with their meal.
However, when she finally managed to pacify Mims and the pair came back into the kitchen, the table had been cleared and the fire was sizzling suspiciously, leading her to suspect that the meal had been consigned to the flames.
Finding her weeping in the scullery, Clem dealt her a comforting pat, then motioned for his father to assist.
Augusta felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. ‘That was lovely, Gus. You did a great conjuring job. We just couldn’t manage to eat it all.’
This made her feel worse than ever and she broke into shuddering sobs.
Probyn had the feeling it was not just this one meal that had broken her spirit. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve expected too much of you, lass. You’re only fifteen, after all…’
These too were the wrong words. Augusta had idolized her mother, had tried her utmost to meet Grace’s standards of care, had worked herself into the ground striving to look after the family whilst maintaining her job so as not to deplete the household income. Yet it had taken only one small crisis to prove how ill-equipped she was to cope. She felt useless and stupid and unworthy.
‘It’s just that you’re the only one who can hold us all together,’ soothed Probyn. ‘If it wasn’t for your hard work your brothers and sisters would have to leave home and that really would be bad for them.’
Torn between pleasure at this show of faith, and her own feelings of grief and inadequacy, Augusta finally shrugged off her woes with a brisk dab of her handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry, Father, I’m just being daft. I was just so livid at that blasted dog for eating your tea.’
Somehow Probyn managed to chuckle. ‘I suppose it would have been funny at any other time.’
‘Aye,’ she chuckled too, though inside she felt only desolation. ‘Don’t worry about me, I can cope – as long as they don’t let any more fleabags in.’
Probyn gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Good lass. I’ve every faith in you.’ Even as he said it, after seeing her in such a state he was not at all sure if he was asking too much of Gussie.
* * *
Life had just started to fall into some sort of routine when along came the Easter holiday to upset things. Now, on top of Augusta’s worry over what she would cook them for tea and what her siblings’ faces would be like as they sampled it, there was the added concern over what they would be getting up to whilst she was at work. Of course, household chores kept them out of mischief for much of the morning, but that still left several hours until she could resume her supervision of them. For his own part her father continued to worry too that he had placed too great a burden on one so young, but what alternative was there? He had to earn a living.
Left to their own devices, today the boys had done their chores and were now out scavenging. Madeleine was obviously preparing for a lone outing for she issued last-minute instructions to Beata.
‘Can you make sure the spuds are peeled by four?’ She donned her bonnet.
Beata objected. ‘Gus asked you to do them.’
‘I know but I might not be back. I’m off to Buttercrambe Wood to pick daffodils.’
‘Who’s taking you?’
‘Nobody, I’m off on the train.’ The Derwent Valley Railway ran along the end of the street.
‘How have you got the money?’
‘Don’t need any. I’ve made friends with the guard and he says I can travel in his van. I’ll have to go now or I’ll miss it – don’t forget the spuds!’ Maddie rushed out.
Beata looked down at Mims. ‘It appears I’m looking after you – as usual.' Seeing Mims ready to pout she added hurriedly, ‘Don’t start! We’re going to have our outing too.’ And off they went on a round tour of their aunts and uncles’ houses.
After a day of visiting relatives, the pair made their way home to an empty, uninviting scene. The front room still had its shop counter, but no smiling face shone out from behind it now. With no reason to come home until Augusta returned from work to make their tea, the boys were still out roaming the streets and, as Beata had expected, Madeleine was still out enjoying herself too. Being a conscientious child, Beata set about peeling the potatoes whilst Mims went out to the closet. But, upon her sister’s loud screams, she was forced to rush out.
Finding that it was only the ducket lavatory that had turned over by accident when Mims had been seated upon it, she dragged her little sister back into the house and ordered her to be quiet whilst she finished the potatoes. This was a useless instruction. Beata was almost at the end of her tether when the door opened and in walked cousin Wilfred from Bolton Percy, his cheerful face gaining immediate welcome.
The twenty-year-old had the assurance of a much older man. ‘All on your own?’ He swaggered about the room, picking up objects to examine as if he owned the place. But he had a pleasant way with him and Beata liked her cousin.
‘Yes. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’ She was already on her way to put the kettle on.
Wilf smiled at her, a sudden gleam in his eye. ‘That’s very kind of you, Beat. Tell you what: while that’s boiling, nip over the road and buy yourself some sweets.’ He handed over a few coppers.
Beata gave profuse thanks and, grabbing an equally delighted Mims by the hand, left the house.
Their return only a few minutes later with handfuls of sweets coincided with Wilfred’s departure. Beata displayed surprise. ‘Don’t you want your tea?’
‘No, no,’ Wilfred issued breezily as he loped away. ‘I’ve just remembered I have to go see somebody. Thanks for the offer, though.’
With Mims occupied by the sweets, Beata was able to finish peeling the potatoes before settling down to enjoy her own comfits, both girls managing to eat every one before Madeleine and the boys arrived.
Eventually a tired-looking Augusta came in, her overalls impregnated with the smell of chocolate. ‘Oh, what lovely daffs!’ Her face brightened at the sight of the vase of flowers that Madeleine had placed on the sideboard. She started cooking tea, having it on the table by the time her father and Clem entered.
Everyone seemingly lifted by the golden addition of spring to their normally dark kitchen, the meal progressed well enough until Mims began to show disdain, shoving the food about her plate.
‘Eat up,’ warned Probyn, having come to dread meal times.
‘I’m full,’ said the three-year-old.
‘How can you be full?’ demanded a tense Augusta.
Mims’ lower lip began to jut.
‘Oh, not again!’ Clem looked sick at the thought of another meal being spoiled.
To prevent further upset Beata quickly explained, ‘Cousin Wilf bought us some sweets. Mims ate all hers.’
Probyn was immediately alert, laying down his cutlery to ask, ‘Wilf? How long was he here?’
‘Only a few minutes while we went to the shop. He said he had to see some—’ She broke off as her father jumped up and began to tour the room suspiciously as if looking for something, his eyes running over shelf and mantelpiece.
After a few moments of opening and closing drawers and cupboards, Probyn made the discovery he had dreaded. ‘Your mother’s gold guard chain!’ It had been looped around one of the candlesticks that were attached to the piano. ‘Have any of you been playing with it?’ At the worried shake of heads he exclaimed, ‘Then the little swine’s taken it! Damn him!’ And he banged his fist so hard on the table that the plates bounced, sending knives and forks up in the air and splattering gravy all over the cloth. ‘What did you let him in for? Don’t you know he’s a ruddy crook?’ Red with fury, Probyn’s face terrified his children.
Sighing, Clem removed himself from the table and lit up a cigarette.
‘I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t know!’ Beata trembled.
Feeling that he might explode with grief and betrayal, Probyn uplifted his face to the ceiling and roared like a bull, clenching his fists. Seeing him so distraught Augusta broke down and sobbed. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Having promised she could cope, she felt utterly useless. ‘It’s all my fault!’
‘How can it be your fault? It’s my bloody fault!’ Probyn’s face was still crimson with fury as he banged his chest. But slowly with great effort he began to calm and with a final sigh uttered, ‘Oh, Gus, I’m not blaming you, I’m not angry with any of you, you weren’t to know, I should have warned you. He’s only just been released from a training ship for diddling some other youngster … Oh, the bloody wretch. Your mother’s chain, how could he stoop so low as to steal off his own?’ He could have wept.
Clem was putting his jacket back on, a look of intent upon his face. ‘I’m off to sort him out.’
Probyn’s arm shot out. ‘No! That’s my job. Sit down and eat your tea.’
The volatile Clem had to be told twice before obeying, allowing everyone to sit down again.
But after such upset no one could eat, and soon the dishes were cleared away and the younger ones packed off to bed.
‘Make sure you say your prayers,’ ordered a weary Augusta. ‘I’ll come and tuck you in in a minute.’
‘This isn’t fair on any of you.’ Seated in emergency council at the table with his eldest son and daughter, Probyn voiced the words he had hoped never to make. ‘We need help. I didn’t want to split up the family but I’ve no choice. We just can’t cope.’
At Augusta’s look of distress he said softly, ‘It’s not an accusation, love. No one could have done a better job than you. How you’ve managed at your age to do a full-time job and run a house at the same time for so long is a miracle – most adults would have failed. But it’s affecting your health and I can’t have you going down the same path as your dear mother. So,’ elbows on the table, he laced his fingers and voiced his resolution, ‘I’m going to write to my sisters and ask if their offer of help still stands.’
Augusta tried hard not to cry but f
ailed.
He strove to comfort her. ‘Now think on, I don’t want you to regard it as a reflection on you, or you, Clem. You’re fine young people, I don’t know what I’d have done without you in the last few weeks and I’m still going to need you here with me, but the little ones will have to go. I can’t see anything else for it. It’s the only way.’
15
Written in hasty scrawl, the collection of letters was posted early the following morning before Probyn went to work, one being addressed to Grace’s sister at Bolton Percy, informing her of her son’s crime. The letter of apology was to appear by return of post that same day, its envelope also containing a pawn ticket.
Upon receipt of it Probyn was if anything even angrier with the culprit, for to redeem Grace’s chain he must pay its full value and, the article being of solid gold, he found it impossible to raise the funds.
Nevertheless, said Probyn to his family, it wasn’t Aunt Nell’s fault that she had a criminal for a son. She and Uncle Charlie were lovely people and it was for this reason he was considering their offer to look after Mims. They lived nearer to York than some of his own relatives, making it easier for his family to keep in touch. He had explained to all the children now of the need for this temporary separation and, though the younger ones did not really understand, they seemed to have accepted it.
Shamed by her son’s wrongdoing, Aunt Nell was not about to tell Probyn of the problems encountered by Mims’ addition to her family. Knowing they were the actions of a bereaved child unable to handle her grief, the kind woman endured the tantrums without anger for several days, before her patience ran out.
But when Mims sank her teeth into a smaller victim, especially as that victim was her own little boy, it was time to act.
Witnessing the assault, Nell grabbed firm hold of Mims and instructed the weeping casualty, ‘Now, bite her back!’
Retribution was delivered. Mims gave a yell and pulled away.
‘Yes! It hurts, doesn’t it?’ demanded Aunt Nell.
The furious three-year-old stood glowering and rubbing her hand.
A Different Kind of Love Page 31
