‘So, we shall have to arrange for the children to move into Peasholme – perhaps at Easter.’ Easter Monday fell on 8 April this year. He asked when he and Dusty could take the children home to America. Belle said that she would prefer an interim of three months before signing the contracts, but as they had already spent considerable time with Freddie and the girls, then she would be willing to let them go by the end of April.
He was much pleased, not only for the adoption but because he would be glad to get home, back to the big brash city. His demeanour changed to concern. ‘Our leaving is gonna hurt Mam. I don’t know how to break it to her.’ He came and sat back at the table, looking pensive.
In his presence, she had made little progress on the illustration. She put down her brush, rubbed her eyes, then began to side her equipment away.
‘I’m putting you off,’ said Dickie.
‘Yes you are, but that doesn’t take much doing. I need little excuse to stop painting.’
‘It’s not a passion like it is with my brother, then?’
‘Far from it.’
‘What is your passion?’
‘I’m not the passionate sort.’
‘Neither am I,’ he said approvingly. ‘’Tis a waste of energy.’
She finished putting her equipment away. ‘Come on, we’ll sit on the sofa.’
‘Not passionate, she says an’ here she is inviting me to share the couch with her.’ Dickie brought his long legs from under the table and went to sit beside her. ‘I really should be getting the news back to Dusty … ah, what the hell, it’s waited all day, it can wait a few minutes longer.’
The sofa being a small one, and Dickie being a tantaliser, his thigh pressed against hers. Belle made no attempt to act the besmirched maiden and did not move away. It was probably the closest she would get to a man for some time.
* * *
March went out with a heavy fall of snow. It was five inches deep in the streets and deeper elsewhere. Dickie was bored. There seemed nowhere to go and nothing left to see. His wife was happy enough now that the contracts were being drawn up for the children’s adoption. She would be happier still if he’d agree to remain in England. They had fallen out over it last night. ‘You never think of asking me what I want to do!’ she had thrown at him. He had pointed out that hers was the only dissenting voice – Freddie and his sisters were keen to go. ‘America’s only a name to them!’ she had argued. ‘They don’t have any measure of distance.’ He had replied that it might only be a name to them, but to him it was home.
‘Life’s too slow here, Dusty. It’d drive me nuts.’ He had taken hold of her and spoken earnestly. ‘I know the real reason ye don’t want to go back. You’re scared those guys who smashed the house up are gonna be lying in wait for me, aren’t ye?’ She had looked at him sharply, receiving one of those slanting leers that told her he had seen right through her subterfuge. Devoid of ammunition, she had laughingly capitulated. He watched her for a while, playing in the snow with Frederick, Julia and Faith who were here on a visit, then came away from the window, sighing heavily.
‘Getting fed-up of us, are you?’ asked his mother, the only other person in the room.
‘No, not of you. It’s just that I can’t sit round all day with nothing to do.’ He looked at her apologetically, shuffling his hands inside his trouser pockets. ‘Ye know, I really will have to go back home and sort things out.’
Thomasin shifted in her chair. It was pleasant to be able to move without pain shooting from every nerve; she had at last visited the doctor who had prescribed Salicin powders. They could be considered quite effective, if one didn’t expect to be able to do somersaults, though walking still presented a problem and she rarely went anywhere without the motor car. ‘The Census returns have to be in tomorrow. I was hoping I could put you down as a resident.’
‘Oh, Mam … I can’t lie to ye.’
‘You never seemed to have much trouble in the past.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I’m sorry, that was a bit cheeky. You’ve turned into a decent man … well, not too bad anyway. Eh, I don’t know … I’d hate to ruin your life by forcing you to stay in England, love. I just don’t want to lose you again.’
‘Ye won’t lose me.’ He came to perch on the arm of her chair. ‘We’ll come over regular for holidays – an’ you can come to us.’
‘But it’s the other side of the world,’ bewailed Thomasin. ‘I can’t just pop round for a chat whenever I feel like it.’ She looked sly. ‘Dusty’s happy here.’
‘She’ll be happy in America,’ he reproved. ‘Don’t be using her to get to me.’
‘Ah dear … I can see I’m wasting my time.’ She patted him and wrinkled her nose. ‘But just stay a wee bit longer, eh? At least till after Easter. This cold weather won’t last long, then we can all get about a bit more and you won’t be so bored.’
He laughed. ‘Belle won’t let us go till the end of April anyway – but straight after Easter I’m off to book our passage, okay?’
‘Right, we’d better make it a damned good Easter then,’ said Thomasin.
… After which, I’ll have to try and find some other excuse to keep you here, she thought.
* * *
Following Good Friday Mass, in which Erin was the only Feeney amongst those who queued to kiss Christ’s feet, she and her mother went to take flowers to Pat’s grave. Getting into the car, she was interested to see that her mother had begun to make surreptitious use of the walking stick, and smiled to herself – though she refrained from any leg-pulling. Once the blooms had been arranged, both stood there for a while, watching two young gravediggers at work. ‘Always someone to bury,’ remarked Thomasin. ‘Those lads’ll never be unemployed.’
Erin nodded, then said quietly, ‘I think I’ll go take Sam some flowers tomorrow.’ Her husband was buried fifteen miles away where he had been born. ‘Unless ye want the car to go anywhere.’
Thomasin said she didn’t and leaned heavily on her cane. ‘I don’t know why I bother coming. Your father isn’t here, is he?’
Erin gave a bleak smile and shook her head. ‘Look at us … two old widow women together.’
‘It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it? How did you ever get over losing him, Erin?’
Erin linked her mother’s arm more tightly. ‘I don’t think I ever did. I still sometimes have a little weep over him.’
‘So you wouldn’t ever marry again?’
Thomasin’s daughter looked down at her with interest. ‘This isn’t a feeler, is it? You’re not trying to tell me you’re going to marry Francis?’
‘Marry a dried-up old stick like Fran? Good God, no!’ Thomasin actually laughed. ‘Oh, that sounds rotten, Fran’s a wonderful pal and we share a great deal of interests, but I could never imagine sleeping in the same bed.’
Erin thought what a strange comment this was for an elderly lady to make, but chuckled anyway, ‘At least I made ye laugh.’
‘Aye, I do feel a bit better today.’ Thomasin’s eyes focused on the young gravediggers again and she nudged her daughter. ‘Eh, which one d’you fancy?’
Erin made a sound like a donkey. ‘What have I started! Just stop this naughtiness or I’ll kick that walking stick from under ye – ah, ye thought I hadn’t noticed!’ She pointed a teasing finger as Thomasin looked found-out. ‘Well, I can see it’s doing ye no good at all. Come on, let’s have you home before you get me into trouble!’
Passing the gravediggers on their way out, Thomasin offered a smile and a coquettish ‘Good morning!’ setting herself and Erin laughing again all the way to the car.
* * *
The snow was washed away by April showers, swelling the river. Undeterred, the Feeneys and hundreds of others converged on the boatyard at Lendal Bridge on Easter Monday to take a trip down the Ouse. Belle, having a detestation of water, was not among them, but the three adoptees had been allowed to come. They had not been told yet, but apart from the thrill of this morning’s Easter eggs it was to b
e an especially exciting day for them, and Dusty too. Belle was coming over to Peasholme for a celebratory luncheon, when the children would learn that they could now regard this as their home until their departure to America. In preparation for this, their grandmother had been rationing her visits lately. There would be tears at the final parting, but knowing they were going to a better life, she had given the adoptive parents her blessing.
Now, Dusty caught her husband’s eye and exchanged a loving look. Before the children had arrived this morning, he had presented her with a coloured pasteboard egg filled with chocolates, to which she had responded, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be receiving so many presents now I’m to be a mother at last.’ He hadn’t understood at first. When she had explained her meaning he had been truly bewildered. ‘You think I bought ye presents to make up for being childless? Dusty, of course I didn’t! I buy ye things ’cause I love you. You’re the most important person in the world to me.’
Thomasin stared at her son and his wife who were rowing the boat. She should feel as happy as they obviously did. The sun had come out to warm her rusty joints, she had a new hat for Easter – even if it was black – here and there along the way an explosion of yellow forsythia heralded spring … but how could she be happy when Dickie would soon be gone. A majestic flotilla of swans drifted by. She turned to watch them as far as her neck would allow. Erin was just commenting on the lovely sight, when something landed in the boat with a thud. All looked up as they passed under Scarborough Bridge and caught a glimpse of some merry faces. When the boat emerged the other side there was another thud.
‘Blasted little hooligans!’ Thomasin shook her stick at them. ‘Children nowadays – pull to the side, Dickie and let me get my hands on them!’ Several more stones plopped into the brown water, splashing all their clothes.
‘Mam, sit still!’ Erin held onto the sides of the boat as it rocked from side to side. ‘You’ll have us all in!’
‘Christ, ye little bastard!’ A wedge of brick had grazed Dickie’s brow.
‘Dickie!’ chastised his wife, then immediately put down her oar to tend the frightened girls, whilst with a great deal more cursing, her husband began to row to the bank. There, he leapt from the boat and headed for his assailants.
He didn’t catch them, of course. The ragamuffins spent some moments jeering at him before pelting off and were gone before the man had a chance to get within fifty yards of them. Freddie experienced a sense of disillusionment in his father’s prowess.
‘I don’t know what children are coming to!’ complained Thomasin as her son came back to retrieve his oars. ‘They’d never have dared to do a thing like that in my day.’
‘I’ll bet he did.’ Erin pointed at her brother who, after a moment’s indignation, laughed and rubbed his head.
‘Oh, they’ve cut you, the little devils!’ Dusty had seen blood on his hand as it came away from his brow. He said it was nothing and taking both oars began to row.
‘Well, I don’t want to go any further,’ complained his mother. ‘Your last few weeks and them little arabs go and spoil it!’
‘Never mind, Mam.’ He strained at the oars, turning the boat round. ‘We’ve still got the party to look forward to.’ His mother had said she couldn’t possibly let them go without one.
‘Aye… Eh look! There’s a policeman – pull over, Dickie.’
The officer promised to attend to the hooligans at once and the family proceeded on their homewards journey without mishap. Due to aborting their trip they were rather early for luncheon and so spent the meantime drinking tea and chatting about the children who had been allowed out to play in the garden.
The doorbell rang. ‘Oh, that’ll be Belle,’ said Erin, and Dusty sat forward in anticipation.
Barbara came in. ‘There’s two policemen, ma’am.’
‘By, that was quick work!’ crowed the old lady. ‘They must’ve caught the little blighters. Send them in, Barbara, and fetch more cups.’
But the moment she saw the men she knew that they had not come about any street arabs.
* * *
When Belle arrived expecting luncheon her mother was demented. ‘Oh God, at last you’re here!’ She hurled herself at her daughter.
‘Mother, calm down, I can’t tell what you’re saying!’ Belle gripped Erin’s shoulders and led her to a sofa. ‘Sit down and take a deep breath.’
Erin gulped in air. ‘Your grandmother’s been taken to the police station!’ She put a hand to her heaving breast and swallowed.
It was Belle’s turn to be disturbed. With an exclamation she planted herself on the sofa beside her mother. ‘When?’
Erin closed her eyes and tried to compose herself. ‘About a quarter of an hour ago. Oh, God! A couple of men came … said they were detectives. We thought they’d just come about the boys throwing stones … I knew, I knew Dickie would bring this on us! They took him into a room on his own for questioning, your Nan too – they even questioned me! Then after a while they carted the pair of them off to the station … they were very nice about it. I told Mother this was going to happen!’ With Belle stunned she was free to rush in. ‘I’ll kill him! I’ll kill that brother o’ mine! My own mother in a prison cell!’
The hysterical tears jerked Belle from her stupor. ‘Surely the police won’t keep her there, an old lady like that. Have they actually been arrested or are they just there for questioning?’
Erin gave a wet sniff and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on! I’ve telephoned Sonny, he’s coming over right away.’ Her daughter asked if Dusty had been taken too. ‘No. They questioned her here for a while. She’s gone to the police station to find out what’s happening.’ Erin covered her mouth, eyes wild. ‘I was all on me own, I didn’t know what to do …’
Belle took command, hugging her mother and attempting to calm her. The maid had appeared with a cup of tea which Belle put into Erin’s shaking hands. ‘Drink that up, Mother, and don’t worry, I’ll stay with you until Uncle Sonny gets here. Then if Aunt Dusty isn’t back we’ll all go over to the police station – but I’m sure she will be. Where are Freddie and the girls?’ Her mother said that they were being looked after in the kitchen by the cook. Excusing herself for a moment, Belle slipped down to the kitchen and asked the manservant to drive the children home.
* * *
There followed an anguished wait. It was one-thirty and still no word. When the front door eventually sounded, both women shot to their feet ready to face Dusty’s news. Alas, it was merely Sonny. After a few tearful sentences from Erin he echoed his sister’s sentiments, ‘I’ll bloody kill him!’ adding, ‘Shouldn’t one of us go and find out what’s happening?’
‘Aunt Dusty’s gone,’ Belle informed him. ‘But she’s been away hours. I said to Mother we should wait for you then go ourselves.’
‘Better for someone to stay here in case Dusty gets back to an empty house,’ said her uncle. ‘I’ll go on my own.’
On arrival at the police station in Clifford Street, he strode up to the desk and announced in masterful vein, ‘Good afternoon. My name is John Feeney, I believe you have my mother and my cousin here for questioning.’
The desk sergeant observed his bearing for a moment, then slipped off his stool. ‘Ah yes, sir. Would you care to step into this room. I won’t keep you a moment.’
With only a table and two chairs for company in the small dingy room, the ten-minute wait was more like an hour and nerves began to erode his mastery. Nevertheless, when two men in plain clothes came in and one of them very politely introduced himself as Detective Inspector Croft, he remained sufficiently confident to demand, ‘I want to know why you’re holding my mother. How is she?’
‘Perfectly well, sir, she’s just having a cup of tea. Please, take a seat.’ Both he and Sonny dragged chairs from under the table and sat down. Croft placed a sheaf of papers in front of him and laced his fingers over it. His black hair was slicked from its middle parting with grease. He
had a waxed moustache, a pointed nose and hairy nostrils. His eyes were deep brown and unlike his colleague who stood watching, showed no suspicion, his manner most respectful. ‘The gentleman with her, he would be your … ?’
‘My cousin,’ contributed Sonny.
The detective appeared to think he had misheard. ‘Not your brother?’
The response was immediate. ‘No, why do you say that?’ Croft stroked the end of his moustache. ‘Well, it’s just that Mrs Feeney has made a statement to say that he’s her son. If he is, wouldn’t that make him your brother?’
The residue of mastery evaporated. Sonny felt sick. ‘Rather confusing, wouldn’t you say, sir? The Yorkshire Insurance Company thinks so too, that’s why they’ve asked me to investigate this matter. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping to fill in a few points.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sonny leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Anything to sort out this idiocy.’
The inspector took personal details, then told him that allegations had been brought by the Yorkshire Insurance Company, relating to a fire that took place in November, 1874. ‘You know which fire I’m referring to, sir?’
‘I presume you mean the one which destroyed my parents’ home.’
‘That’s correct. The one in which your brother was purported to have died. It is your brother who we’re holding, isn’t it?’
Sonny hesitated, then decided that continuing to lie would be the worst possible thing. He nodded guiltily. ‘Yes.’
‘Why did you say he was your cousin?’
Sonny rubbed at his hands nervously. ‘I don’t know.’
Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4) Page 29
