‘How could you have a sort of marriage when you were already married to me?’ She drummed her chest. ‘I presume it was during the African War?’ He moved his head again, making her shriek, ‘Well, am I to be forced to keep making these presumptions or are you going to have the decency to tell me why you found the need to… when you had me!’
‘I didn’t think of her as I think of you!’ he told her earnestly. ‘I was just lonely, being away from home. She just happened along.’
Rachel clutched handfuls of hair and screamed, ‘That only makes it worse! Treating the wretched creature like…’ She couldn’t say the word.
‘Rache…’ He put his empty glass on the sideboard and approached her, hands imploring.
‘Don’t!’ Her shrill voice forbade him. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She saw those same hands pawing the African woman.
‘You asked me to tell you…’
‘But I don’t want to hear!’
‘Let me explain… about the boy. I didn’t want him to come here.’
‘Oh, you do surprise me!’
‘I told the priest I didn’t want anything to do…’
‘Priest?’ She pushed the fringe of curls upwards, revealing a corrugated brow.
Russ stumbled over the explanation of his arrangements for Charlie’s upbringing, the recent letters. At his conclusion she enquired acidly as to the whereabouts of this priest. ‘I’ve no idea. Maybe we ought to ask the boy.’
‘He’s still here?’ It came on a gasp.
A short pause. ‘He’s in the kitchen.’
‘Get him out! Don’t you dare bring him in here! I refuse to have your… in my best parlour! It’s bad enough he’s under my roof at all.’ Her mind reeled with the sudden transition of the beautiful day. Nausea made her grasp at her mouth.
He gestured at the door. ‘Shall I go…’
‘You’d better!’
Then Rachel’s eyes fell on the gift he had brought back from Africa. Seizing the wooden bust, she shook it at him furiously. She did not have to say anything; he knew well enough what she was thinking. ‘Rachel, that wasn’t meant as…’
‘Just go!’ She flung the African woman’s head on the fire.
* * *
Biddy was mopping at Robina’s wet face with a tea towel.
‘There, there, Miss Beany, turn the tap off else we’ll all be needin’ waders. The mistress’ll be fine enough in a while.’
‘She isn’t dead?’ Beany’s voice caught with emotion.
‘Sure, won’t she be comin’ in here in two seconds an’ chewin’ all our ears off, large as Lazarus.’ She put the child from her knee and began to lumber about the kitchen, collecting knives and plates.
‘But why did she fall down?’ sniffed Beany, shuffling onto a stool.
‘Hah! Wouldn’t the Minster fall down with a shock like himself has just given her?’ The maid directed a knife at Charlie, who thought her face was rather like Sister Bernadette’s donkey with her big furry eyebrows.
‘Yes, who gave you the right to go scaring our mother like that with your lies, Fuzzball?’ demanded Bertie. ‘Making her faint.’ He too had been most concerned at the impact on Rachel – though the effect this was going to have on his own life far surpassed anything else.
‘I don’t lie,’ answered Charlie dangerously, ‘and don’t call me Fuzzball.’
‘Well, I say you do – Fuzzball!’ Bertie rounded on his sisters. ‘Let’s take a vote on it: who believes this impostor?’
‘I do.’ Becky raised her hand to a grateful smile from the good-looking boy.
Bertie was nettled that it should be the one who always professed to think the most of him. ‘You’d believe it if somebody told you bird muck was ice cream! What about you, Wena? You don’t believe he’s our brother, do you?’
The eldest girl looked troubled. Whatever the truth, Charlie’s appearance had undoubtedly distressed both her parents. ‘I’m not sure…’ She turned to the maid. ‘Biddy, is it possible for us to have a brother who’s brown like Charlie?’
Biddy, well into her twenties now, was more correctly acquainted with the facts of life than when she had entered this household as a girl. ‘Sure an’ ’tis possible.’
‘Don’t take any notice of that pea-brain,’ snapped Bertie. ‘How could Father be this boy’s father and ours at the same time?’
‘Well, I ’spect it was while he was doin’ that fighting in Africa that he met the boy’s mammy,’ was Biddy’s solution.
Bertie had been doing some working out. He knew that he himself had been born while his father had been fighting the Boers. ‘But he was married to our mother then! It’s bigamy.’
‘I thought pygmies were tiny,’ said Beany, looking up at Charlie.
‘Bigamy! Bigamy! It’s against the law to be married to two people at the same time,’ rasped her brother tetchily. ‘And if he wasn’t married to this boy’s mother then how can he possibly be his father?’
‘Ye don’t need to be married to someone to make a baby, Master Bertie,’ came the indiscreet snippet from Biddy.
‘That just shows how ignorant she is,’ sneered Bertie to Rowena. ‘You can’t possibly have a baby if you’re not married.’
‘Ye won’t be told anything, will ye?’ Biddy slammed the plates down.
‘You’re stupid,’ sulked Bertie.
Charlie, standing by the fire, looked around at the uncertain collection of faces. Doubt began to invade him. He fought it off, planted himself on a dining chair and said definitely, ‘He is my father.’
Bertie gave a howl of disgust, crossed his arms and retreated to the window from where he watched the others set upon the pile of scones that Biddy had just buttered. ‘Well, you’re obviously not a gentleman,’ he observed as the ravenous Charlie crammed his mouth with food. ‘Gentlemen don’t bolt their food.’
‘Take no notice,’ said Rowena kindly. ‘He’s only repeating what Mother usually says to him.’ She felt sorry for the visitor. If he was their brother it was no sort of welcome he’d received.
Charlie asked them to forgive him. ‘But I’ve been stuck on the train most of the day and there was nowhere to buy food. I haven’t eaten since this morning.’
‘Lord! ’Tis a wonder your backbone ain’t playin’ the “Funeral March” on your ribs,’ cried Biddy. ‘D’ye want I should make ye a fry-up?’
‘Maybe he’d prefer a plate of grubs,’ sniped Bertie, watching the scones disappear. ‘That’s what fuzzballs usually eat, isn’t it?’
Charlie chose not to rise to the bait, but simply pondered, ‘What day is it?’ Becky told him it was Sunday. ‘Oh well, that’s all right then – I don’t eat grubs on a Sunday.’ He flashed his teeth at Biddy and said he’d love a fry-up.
‘Did you come all the way from Africa on your own?’ asked Rowena and when he said he had, ‘Oh, aren’t you brave!’
‘I can’t see anything brave about it,’ grumbled Bertie. There was one scone left. Saliva flooded his mouth, but if he were to get the scone he would have to go near Fuzzball and he refused to do that.
‘Mother won’t even allow Bertie to go to school on his own,’ said Lyn, inviting further detestation, especially as she took the final scone.
‘That’s a lie!’
‘No it isn’t, she says you’re not to come home without us.’
‘That’s for your benefit, not because Mother’s worried about me!’
Lyn said, ‘Huh!’ and turned back to Charlie. ‘How old are you?’ He told her twelve and a half. ‘Heck, I thought you were miles older.’ She glanced at his long fawn trousers. With these, his man’s jacket and his height, he looked far more mature than her brother. ‘Mother won’t allow Bertie to have any longs till he’s fourteen.’
The newcomer tossed a conciliatory smile at Bertie. ‘I’ve only been wearing them myself since I got to England.’ But this did nothing to ease his half-brother’s envy.
‘And you thought you’d just come here and show them off,’ mouth
ed Bertie, adding angrily to his sister, ‘Anyroad, I’m nearly twelve!’ He caught Charlie’s amusement and demanded to know what was so funny.
‘Oh, I wasn’t laughing at what you said.’ The lively brown eyes turned repentant. ‘It’s just… well, you’ve all got such funny voices.’ He could not prevent the laughter from creeping back to his eyes.
‘I don’t like people who talk posh,’ muttered Bertie.
‘I didn’t mean it as an insult…’ Charlie took another bite of the scone.
‘You’re a lovely colour,’ said Becky, stroking his hand with admiration.
Charlie scooped the crumbs from his grinning lips as the little girl turned his hand over to remark on how pink his palm was and responded to her compliment by flattering her hair. She transferred her hand to her red curls. ‘Oh, do you like it? No one else does.’ Some children at school called her Carrots. She had always felt inferior, being different from the rest of her family. Charlie said he thought it was a glorious colour and very unusual.
‘Well it would be to you, wouldn’t it?’ salvoed Bertie.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so mean to him,’ defended Becky. ‘He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?’
‘He’s upset Mother, hasn’t he?’ growled Bertie, then looked to the door where his father had entered and bounced off the stool. If Fuzzball was going to stay for any length of time then he had better be sure of one thing. ‘Father, about your birds’ eggs…’
‘Oh, Bertie lad, don’t bother me with that now.’ His father was unusually dismissive of what he had to say. ‘I need to talk to Charlie.’
Bertie was visibly wounded by this curt rebuff. ‘But he’s telling all sorts of lies!’
‘Robert, please go to your room,’ commanded Russ, quietly but firmly, then addressed the girls. ‘You can come down again later.’
‘Is Mother feeling all right now?’ enquired Rowena.
‘Yes, yes, she’s just had a bit of a shock, that’s all. Now will you just let me talk to Charlie alone.’
A smarting Bertie left, followed by the girls, but not before Becky had made an incriminating observation to the others. ‘You see! Father knew Charlie’s name without being told – he must be our brother.’
‘Biddy, if you wouldn’t mind…’ Russ indicated the door.
She looked up from the pan. ‘I was just cooking the lad a meal, sir. He’s not eaten since…’
‘For God’s sake! Will somebody just do as they’re told for once?’
Biddy was contrite, ‘Yes, sir,’ and began to exit. ‘But if ye should smell the bacon burning would ye just…’
‘If I smell anything burning it’ll probably be me,’ he muttered. Then, ‘What I have to say won’t take long. I’ll call you when I’ve done.’
When she had left he sat down at the table opposite the boy, regarding him silently for a time. The bacon sizzled and spat in the pan, its smell wavering under his nose. His innards still quivered from the shock he had received. Taking a deep breath, he said bluntly, ‘Right then, where do I find this priest?’
Discountenance shaded Charlie’s features. He had not anticipated such a brusque opening to his father’s first dialogue. ‘He’s still in Africa.’
Russ pulled upright in disbelief. ‘He sent you all this way on your own?’
Charlie shook his woolly head, looking guilty now. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’ At his father’s questioning face he lowered his eyes and began to scratch at the chenille cloth with a fingernail.
This action and the boy’s reticence scoured Russ’ nerves and he gave Charlie’s hand a curt tap. ‘Stop that! Come on, I’m waiting!’
‘I… the money you sent with your letter, Father Guillaume put it in the cashbox. I broke it open and took it – it wasn’t really stealing!’ he added hastily. ‘It belonged to me, didn’t it? You sent it for me.’
But the rejoinder was bitter. ‘I didn’t send it so’s you could come here and ruin my life! Didn’t you see what the shock of meeting you did to Mrs Hazelwood?’
Charlie understood his father’s anger now, and showed remorse for his insensitive action. ‘I’m sorry… I was going to wait outside till you were on your own but the children saw me… is she very upset?’
Russ gave a strangled laugh and buried his head in his hands. His eyes emerged slowly over the fingertips, their lower lids being dragged down to expose bloody rims. He examined the face before him, missing its attractiveness, seeing only his own misfortune. ‘So… you came all the way from Africa on your own?’
An affirmative nod. ‘I came on a cargo boat.’
‘Why?’
‘It was cheaper that way.’
‘No – I mean why did you come here at all? If the priest received the money then he must’ve received my letter – didn’t he tell you what was in it?’
Uncertainty flickered in Charlie’s eyes. ‘He said it was difficult for you to take me to live with you at the moment.’ Russ cursed the priest’s diplomacy. ‘So why did you choose to ignore that?’
Charlie hesitated, then said, ‘My mother’s dead.’
‘Aye, I heard… I’m sorry, but I don’t see why that should make you come here.’
‘She used to tell me that one day you’d come back for me. When she died, I waited… but you didn’t come. Father Guillaume said you had another wife who knew nothing about me, said she would be unhappy if she knew, but I thought maybe it was just because he didn’t want to take me to England with him that he told me this.’
‘Well, as you can see,’ said Russ candidly, ‘Father Guillaume was right – Mrs Hazelwood is unhappy, she’s very unhappy, but there’s not much I can do about it now, is there?’
Charlie’s head sagged. All at once the smell of bacon was no longer appetizing.
Through his own despair Russ saw the look and, giving a long exhalation, rose. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I won’t chuck you out to fend for yourself… there’s not much point now, is there?’
* * *
‘He can’t stay here!’ Rachel was seized by panic at the information from her husband, envisioning the storm if this should leak out.
Russ spoke deflatedly. He had told her everything now. ‘If he’s here and the priest’s still in Africa I don’t see as we’ve any option.’
‘We’ve every option!’
‘Throw him out, you mean?’
‘Why not?’ she rasped. ‘Isn’t that what you did eleven years ago? Tossed him aside like some piece of rubbish.’
His eyelids performed a gesture of despair. ‘I made provision…’
‘Well, you can make provision again! Put him straight back on the train to… wherever it was he landed!’ Russ pointed out that the boy had no return passage. ‘Buy him one! Take the money – take as much as you need but just get him out!’ She dashed about the room in her fury. ‘Damn you, Russell!’ Her nervous fingers travelled the sideboard, pushing and pulling at the crocheted runner.
The pearl droplets she wore in her ears held him fascinated. With each angry word they would dangle feverishly. Any moment now he fully expected to see them fly across the room. ‘I’m truly sorry for…’
‘Sorry? Sorry!’ she shrieked, then flew at him, banging her clenched fists at his chest while he stood and took every blow. ‘You’re filthy, you…’ She hurled herself from him to plop lethargically into a chair. Yet in a moment she was up and pacing the room once again. ‘And how many more have there been? How many more of these children can I expect to come creeping out of your sordid Army career?’
‘There’s no one else,’ he replied quietly. ‘Only him.’
‘Only? Hah!’ The earrings oscillated. ‘Well I’m not putting up with him – get rid!’
‘I’ll have to contact the priest,’ said Russ lamely.
She pulled open a drawer of the sideboard, screwed a pile of writing paper into her fist and flung that and a pen at him. ‘Now! Do it right this minute!’ He caught some of the crumpled paper against his chest; the r
emainder floated to the carpet while she continued to badger. ‘How soon will he be here?’
‘I think it takes a letter about three wee—’
‘Weeks! I can’t have that boy in my house for weeks! For God’s sake!’ At his torpor she flew into fresh attack, slapping and lashing out at him. ‘Say something! Do something, instead of standing there like a… dolt! Oh, what are we going to do?’ She broke down sobbing.
Russ stayed motionless, wishing for all the world that he could shed his fear and anger as easily as his wife. But he had never been one to parade his emotions. He groped for a remedy. ‘We’ll have to try and keep him hidden.’ It was meant to ease her sobs but induced only derision.
‘How do you hide somebody like him?’ she gurgled tearfully. ‘Besides, I shouldn’t wonder if half the street saw him come in here with the children.’
‘If they ask we’ll say he only came in for directions.’
‘But I have to invite people in for fittings! Oh, if the Daws knew about him they’d…’ She caught the twitch near his eye and was filled with new dread. ‘Oh, my God!’
‘It’s only Jack,’ he was quick to tell her. ‘And he doesn’t know the boy’s here. Just about… you know.’
‘If he knows then his wife does! She must’ve known for years and been laughing behind my back. How many more has she told? How could you ever do this to me – to your children?’ This alerted fresh problems. ‘The children! What’re we going to say to them?’ Distraught hands clamped her temples, dragging the hair back from her tortured face.
‘They’ll have to be sworn to secrecy.’
‘I mean about your betrayal! They don’t even know how babies come about, how can we possibly explain that you… with a native woman?’ It came again; the vision of them together made her writhe. Russ looked away in shame. ‘Don’t think that hiding your face is going to excuse you from your responsibilities! It’s you who’s going to tell them. I refuse to be burdened with this.’ All the time her mind screamed its helplessness.
He nodded grimly. ‘I’ll tell them, best I can.’
My Father, My Son Page 14
