‘Can I have this, Dad?’ Fred staggered up under the weight of an enormous grey cat with blazing orange eyes and tail that twitched.
‘Put it down!’ urged Belle. ‘The blessed thing’s wild.’
‘No, he likes me.’ Fred clung onto his squirming prize and turned to Dusty. ‘Can I have it, Mam?’ He and the girls now dared to use the more familiar titles in front of Belle, hoping that it would hurry their adoption along.
‘I want it.’ Paddy made a grab for the cat.
‘You always want what I’ve got.’ Fred held it out of reach. ‘Go on, Mam, can I take him home?’
When Belle said that it probably came from a farm and would be missed, Dusty turned to her niece and whispered, ‘Let him take it, Belle, please. You can always throw it out when he’s asleep and say it’s escaped.’
Belle did not normally yield to persuasion, but this time guilt over her uncle’s kiss modified her stance. She gave her aunt a mute nod and began to clear away the leftover food.
Whilst his wife was busy elsewhere, Dickie shifted towards his niece. ‘Dusty knows.’
‘I couldn’t give two hoots,’ rasped Belle. ‘I’m more concerned about what you’ve done to Feen. The poor child … I know exactly how she feels.’ For that moment, there resurfaced the humiliation of seeing her first and only love in the arms of her cousin Rosie. She left him and in a spirit of compassion approached Feen to make reparation. But the girl deliberately turned her back and went to help Dusty.
There’s something gone on there. Thomasin watched Belle and her daughter-in-law closely. They had never exactly been compatible, but something had happened to nudge mere dislike into antagonism. She cast her mind back over the afternoon, pinpointing the game of hide and seek as the catalyst. Whatever had occurred included Feen. Hitherto, she could always be found in the vicinity of her uncle, but several times this afternoon she had displayed alienation. Thomasin tried to picture what had happened in that wood, and came to a worrying conclusion. She watched Feen wander away from her aunt to stand alone by the lake, and suddenly realised with some shame that she was guilty of that which she complained about in others: she had been treating Feen as a child when in fact she was almost a woman. Asking Sonny to pull her out of the chair, she limped over to stand beside her grand-daughter.
‘It’ll be your birthday soon.’ She leaned painfully on her stick.
Feen nodded, but continued to stare at the water. The expression in her eyes told Thomasin that her version of the scenario had not been far from the truth. She wanted to offer comfort, but there was little one could say to someone whose first experience of love had been shattered.
‘We have a lot in common, you and me, Feen. They treat us both like kids.’ Feen looked at her and formed a watery smile. ‘You know, I haven’t told anyone this,’ Thomasin shifted her weight onto the other leg, ‘but when the Queen died I kept seeing it as something drastic, all this change … Only recently I came to see that it’s not the world that’s changing but me that’s grown old. I hate it, Feen. It frightens me. It seems to hit you with a bang. Until your grandfather died I felt the same inside as I’d done at your age – oh, I know, you think this old twig can’t possibly have entertained the same emotions as you, but I did. That’s why I came to offer my apologies. I’ve been so busy complaining about folk treating me like a bairn that I didn’t see I was guilty of the same.’ She turned round slowly, presenting her back. ‘Here, unhook this locket for me, will you? I can’t get my hands that far any more.’
Feen lifted the wisps of grey hair from her grandmother’s neck and applied her nails to the clasp. Thomasin cupped her hand to catch the locket as the girl lowered it on its chain. She looked at it warmly for a second, then pressed it into Feen’s hand. ‘There you are. That’s your birthday present.’
Acquainted with its origins, Feen gasped at the honour and gazed down at the little silver locket. Both this, and the way Thomasin had confided her adult thoughts, brought anguish over the dreadful things she had said of her grandmother. Tears welled up. She pressed an impulsive kiss to the downy cheek. ‘Thank you, Nan.’
Thomasin put an arm round her, returning the kiss. ‘Bless you, love. I only wish it were that simple to give you a life without heartbreak.’ She looked up at the shout from her son – ‘We’re going without you!’ The rugs had been lifted, leaving flattened patches in the long grass. ‘Have you heard him?’ demanded Thomasin. ‘Treating us like bairns again.’ Feen laughed and, linking her grandmother’s arm the two made their way back to the gathering.
* * *
Dickie expected his wife to confront him when they got home. But she said nothing. ‘You’re mad at me, aren’t ye?’ he said when they were getting undressed for bed and she had hardly uttered anything other than sarcasms all evening. She asked what reason she could possibly have for being angry. ‘’Cause ye think I got up to something with Belle this afternoon.’
‘I don’t think that – I know.’
‘It was only a game, Dusty, honest.’ He opened the door to place his boots on the landing to be polished.
‘Isn’t everything a game to you? The adoption, our marriage, everything.’
He approached her with arms outspread but she raised her fist and he backed away. ‘Remember the trial’s coming up! I don’t want to appear with a black eye.’
‘Thank you for reminding me,’ said Dusty, and thumped him in the gut instead. While he was still doubled over, she asked, ‘Did you mean it about staying in England?’
He nodded painfully, hand clutched to midriff. ‘For the time being. I’m not gonna sell the house, though.’
‘What you mean is, it’ll be there to go back to when your mother dies.’ At the look on his face her harshness melted and she came to tend his injuries. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that was low.’
‘It’s right, though, isn’t it?’ sighed Dickie. ‘It’ll be just like I’m waiting for her to die. But I’ve promised her and that’s that. I’ll have to wire Faulkener,’ this was Dickie’s lawyer in America, ‘tell him to sort things out for us and send some more cash.’ He finished undressing.
Dusty let out a gasp. ‘Look at your shin!’
Dickie looked down at the large purple swelling. ‘No more rugby for me.’
* * *
July arrived. Nursed back to confidence by her grandmother’s frequent tête à têtes, Feen was now more enamoured of the new horse her father had given her for her birthday, than Uncle Dickie. Since the picnic, Thomasin had become concerned at the amount of time her son was spending with Belle. Of course it was natural that he and Dusty would want to keep visiting the children, but Thomasin felt that on Dickie’s part it was just a convenient excuse. Today, Belle had come over for tea with the children, who were informally gathered in the drawing room. At least here she could keep tabs on her.
Erin shared this view, though she was unaware that her mother had noticed. She passed a plate of bread and butter to the adults and then to the children. ‘Don’t touch the cat, dear, when you’re about to eat.’ Freddie’s cat had defied all Belle’s attempts at eviction. Each time she opened the door on a morning, in it would stroll to be fed. The children’s arms were covered in scratches from its assaults. Belle had threatened to drown it, but then a new baby arrived which was more troublesome than the cat and Fred’s pet was safe for the time being. Erin only wished the child would not fetch it with him whenever he visited. She didn’t care for cats and even less so when they were not housetrained.
Whilst they were eating, the animal leapt up onto the sofa beside Dusty and had the audacity to lick the bread in her hand. She lashed out at it, knocking it to the carpet.
‘Aw, he was only tasting it for you to make sure it wasn’t stale, weren’t you, Pussy?’ Dickie leaned over to fondle the ruffled feline.
Erin ordered Fred to take it out and tea continued in a more orderly fashion. Afterwards, when the children were playing in the garden, she asked her daughter, ‘Have ye seen anything of Brian lately?’ Bel
le picked up a newspaper to deflect this, saying she hadn’t seen him at all and didn’t expect to. ‘I wonder how the poor man is. I’ve a mind to go call on him myself.’
‘I’ll thank you not to.’ To make her mother talk of something else Belle gave an angry flick of the newspaper. ‘Just listen to this! It’s headed: “When Women Should Rule”.’ She read aloud. “‘That women should rule to a certain extent we all allow – just as far as man’s natural gallantry prompts him to place the reins in her dainty fingers. In little things, in everything that pertains to her own sphere let her authority be supreme. But in everything of importance man must govern for the good of all concerned.”’
‘Quite right too,’ said her uncle. ‘But they left out the bit about chaining them to the bedpost.’ He gave a droll smile to his audience.
‘You need someone to teach you what women could do if ever they were granted the chance!’
‘I know what women are capable of.’ He gave an oblique look at his wife. ‘Anyway, what would women do if they were given the vote?’
‘We’d stop all these stupid wars for a start,’ retorted Belle.
‘You don’t stop bullets with feather dusters.’
‘No! you usually stop them with a part of your body,’ volleyed Belle. ‘The real way to stop them, the sensible way, is at source, with the politicians who get us into these skirmishes, and to do that we have to have the vote. I mean, what makes men so special? What makes them look upon us as simply wives and mothers? Why should I with a First Class Honours Degree be denied a say in my own future while the man who shovels the contents of the privies has his?’
‘Ah well, that’s where you academics fall down, ye see. Ye think that just ’cause ye’ve been to university and passed a few exams ye’re experienced enough to handle the country’s future. Exams are useless when it comes to real life. The other man might be as thick as the stuff he shovels but he knows what real life’s all about.’
‘He knows about his life! He knows how much it costs for a pint of beer and a twist of tobacco …’
‘That’s rather patronising, Belle,’ cut in Erin. ‘Just because someone’s poorly paid or roughly spoken doesn’t mean he’s uncaring of the wider world. You’re forgetting that this family wasn’t always as wealthy.’
‘I’m not forgetting and I didn’t mean to imply that all his kind are uncaring or unintelligent – though plenty of them are. I’m just pointing out the absurdities in the system. Everyone should be entitled to a vote and I mean everyone.’
‘I dread to think what life would be like if that Hobhouse woman got the vote,’ said Thomasin.
Belle defended her friend. ‘The world would be a better place.’
Thomasin looked over her spectacles. ‘For our enemies.’
‘Oh, come! It’s women and children she’s concerned about.’
‘It might be nice if she showed a bit of patriotism and compassion for our own soldiers who’re being slaughtered by the husbands of the women she’s helping.’
Erin agreed. ‘Look at what happened to Rosie. She thought she was helping a cause. It’s the same with these interfering Americans who send money to Ireland thinking they’re doing good when all it’s doing is subsidising murder.’
Dickie flared. ‘Are you saying I helped kill my own daughter?’
For a moment there was acute tension in the room, then Erin sighed, ‘Did I say that?’
‘When ye say Americans ye usually mean me!’
‘Well, I didn’t. I doubt even you are that stupid. I was just making a general comment on the way people’s interference in something that doesn’t concern them often makes things worse.’
‘Mother of God!’ spat Belle. ‘Where would we be if nobody interfered in atrocities just because it didn’t concern them. What’s going on in South Africa concerns all of us. If the French Army were to march in here and drag us all into concentration camps you’d have plenty to say.’
‘That’s a ridiculous analogy,’ said Thomasin. ‘The French don’t have the same connections with us as we do with South Africa – they’d be invading a foreign country.’
Belle gave a growl of impatience. ‘That’s the sort of colonial attitude that’s central to this war. You’ve no idea, any of you. You should have come and listened to Emily at yesterday’s meeting. She’d convince you.’
‘God forbid,’ said her grandmother. ‘Anyway, it’ll all be academic soon, Kruger’s about to surrender.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Belle. ‘But even if that were true there’re other battles to be won. There’s a meeting of the York Women’s Suffrage Society on Saturday afternoon. Why don’t you come, Nan? You too, Mother and you Aunt. We need a few authoritative voices.’ Her mother said they had too much on their minds with the trial. ‘Then this will take your minds off it,’ argued Belle. ‘It would do you good to listen to some sense too, Uncle.’
‘I don’t think it’ll be my cup o’ tea somehow,’ said Dick.
‘Well, I agree that there might be some long words that you may not understand but I could explain them to you.’
‘May one ask who’ll be looking after the children while you swan off to this meeting?’ asked her mother. ‘Didn’t I hear you mention that you’d granted Sally this Saturday off in lieu of yesterday?’
Belle replied that Sally could have another day off instead.
‘And why should she?’ enquired Erin. ‘Hasn’t she been put upon enough recently?’ Belle asked what she meant. ‘Well, you have been to rather a lot of meetings since you got back from Africa. The poor girl had to cope virtually alone until Aunt Dusty came, she might at least expect a bit of respite now you’re back. Not to mention that she’s probably up half the night with that new baby.’
‘She gets paid for it, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh, that’s a very philanthropic attitude, I must say!’ scolded her mother.
Dusty jumped in. ‘I don’t have to come to the meeting. I can come round and keep an eye on them if you like.’
‘I don’t see why you should have to stay at home when your husband’s gallivanting,’ opined Erin.
‘I enjoy being with the children,’ said Dusty.
Are you trying to drive them together or what, fumed Erin. Here I am giving you the opportunity …
‘That’s settled then,’ said Belle.
* * *
Political meetings were not Dickie’s usual idea of entertainment, but he allowed Belle to drag him along. As it turned out the afternoon was more eventful than he might have imagined. From the outset there was a great deal of heckling, though the main speaker managed to deliver her speech without a waver. As it progressed however, the heckling grew to such a pitch it was almost impossible to hear her. Belle could stand it no longer and jumped up to confront the man behind her who was one of the noisiest contributors. Dickie shrank into his seat as she harangued the man loudly.
‘Why don’t you take control of your woman?’ demanded a fellow sitting nearby.
‘She’s not with me.’ Dickie looked offended and as inconspicuously as he could, made for the exit. He waited outside for her until the arrival of a police van, at which point he deemed it politic to make himself scarce.
Belle caught up with him some time later. ‘Deserter!’ She brandished a handful of leaflets at him. ‘Just for that you can deliver some of these.’
The leaflets were delivered under duress. Belle told him he was a good boy and offered to buy him tea. He agreed to this, but made loud protest when on her way Belle purchased a sheep’s head. ‘Christ, that’s not my tea, is it?’
‘Don’t be silly. We’re just going to take a little detour, get our own back on that lout at the meeting. I know his address, he’s always disrupting our talks.’
Arriving at the man’s house, Belle put the sheep’s head on his doorstep. She took a piece of paper from her bag, scrawled on it Votes For Women Not For Sheep and fixed it as best she could to the sheep’s head. Then, satisfied, she took Dickie t
o the Coffee House in High Ousegate where she treated him to a plate of sausage and mash.
On Monday morning, Dickie learnt from the newspaper that a black magic coven was thought to be operating in York: a sheep’s head had been found on someone’s doorstep. Belle and he laughed uproariously when he told her about it the next time she came over. ‘The note must have blown off!’
Erin did not share the hilarity. ‘I think you ought to make your mind up just who and what you are, Belle. Are you a campaigner for women’s rights? Are ye for the people of South Africa or are ye going to stick with the responsibilities you’ve already made for yourself – the children.’
Belle was put out by this attack. ‘It’s not a matter of choice. The three are interwoven. The same people are responsible for all these injustices.’
‘But it’s the amount of time you’re spending in fighting them! You complain about injustice but you’re just as guilty of it. You shuffle Sally’s free days about to fit in with your life, you’re quite content to let Dusty take care of the children when it suits you but you drag your feet when it comes to letting her have them permanently.’
‘You know I can’t sign them over until after the trial.’
‘Why not? Have they any more stability with you when you’re out campaigning every night? You’re going to have to buck your ideas up, my girl.’ She was about to leave the room, when she noticed a pile of excrement behind a chair. ‘Oh, who’s done that!’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said her brother, drawing more laughter from Belle. Her mother stalked out.
‘What did I say to bring that on myself?’ Belle asked her grandmother, whilst going to ring for the maid.
‘It’s the worry of the trial, and of course she’s always a bit on edge at this time of year,’ replied Thomasin softly. ‘It’s the anniversary of your father’s death.’
‘Oh …’ Belle looked guilty. ‘I forget, you know.’
‘Well, you were only three when he died, you can’t be expected to remember him.’ .
Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4) Page 33
