Dusty felt like pressing it over his face and suffocating him but, scenting burnt toast, she tore out.
The children were very quiet over breakfast. Dusty tried to brighten things by asking what they wanted to do today.
The girls voiced their simple desire to go on the sands again. Frederick said that it didn’t look as if his father was getting up and perhaps he should stay behind to look after him, but Dusty said firmly, ‘He’s a grown man, love. He can take care of himself for once. We won’t let that grumbling old cuss spoil our fun.’
Dickie didn’t even know he had been deserted until the door bespoke his wife’s return at lunchtime. After a moment or two, he rolled out of bed, sloshed some water on his face and, dressed only in his trousers, padded slothfully downstairs. Four faces turned to look at him as he leaned against the door jamb and asked, ‘Had a good time?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Dusty got up and fetched a plate of salad for him, then sat down and resumed her meal.
When luncheon was over and his wife was in the kitchen washing the plates, Dickie whispered to the boy to take his sisters down to the beach and he and their mother would meet them later. Fred asked if they might go to the People’s Palace instead. ‘OK, but we’ll all go together later, I want a talk with your mother first. Ye know those verandas where folk sit? Well, stick around that bit of sand so we can easy find ye.’ When they had gone, he went into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry about this morning, Dust.’
She did not turn from the sink. ‘It’s the children you should be saying that to. I’ve got used to your foul temper on a morning, they haven’t.’
The floor was cold, making him shift his bare feet. ‘I shouldn’t’ve bawled at them, I know, but having them between us every night, well, it’s just not natural. I want them to sleep in their own beds tonight.’
She wrung out the dishcloth and proceeded to wipe the draining board vigorously. ‘Oh well, if that’s what you want we’ll all have to oblige, won’t we?’
He stared at her back. ‘It doesn’t matter to you, then?’
It was difficult to ignore the hurt tone. She closed her eyes, turned, then came to hug him. ‘Of course it matters and I’ve missed having you love me … but, Dick, we have to put their feelings first. That’s what parenthood’s about.’
He pressed her close, kneading his chin into the top of her silver head. ‘I’m scared it’s gonna be like this all the time, Dust.’
‘No, no. Once we get them settled into a normal routine we’ll be fine.’ She lifted her head and kissed his neck. ‘I still love you, you know.’
The kiss stirred latent passion. Dick edged her towards a carpeted floor where they made up for all the times spoilt. Afterwards they remained locked together, talking softly.
Dusty sighed and rubbed his chest. ‘What will we do when the holiday ends?’
During his sleepless nights her husband had had plenty of time to think about this. ‘I know we can’t go back to America yet, ’cause of Belle and the children, but we can hardly have a normal life in York until we know the heat’s off. Ye’ve always wanted to go to Paris – how about spending a couple of months there till we’re sure things are okay?’
‘It’s one long holiday, isn’t it?’ Dusty pulled a face of indecision.
Dickie started to get up. ‘There’s no rush. We’ll have another week here – providing those kids are taught which bed is theirs. Come on now, don’t be lying there with no knickers on, they’re waiting for us down on the beach.’
* * *
A bracing sea breeze carried them along the Esplanade to a flight of steps and the Spa Bridge, rippling skirts and trousers. By the magnificent Grand Hotel they took the last winding path down to the Foreshore and rounded the corner to see the children dangling on the railings eating toffee apples. Afraid that the in-coming tide would wash them away, Faith had dragged her brother and sister onto safer ground. There was a man leaning on the railings nearby, to whom Julia was chattering away. All four had their backs to Dickie, but the instant he saw that man he stopped in his tracks and gripped his wife’s elbow. ‘The detective!’
Dusty stopped too. ‘You’re imagining things. You can’t see his face.’ Then the man moved his head and she saw that her husband was right.
‘The devious bastard,’ hissed Dickie. ‘He must’ve been watching Peasholme an’ followed you and the girls.’ Dusty insisted that no one had pursued her. He gripped her shoulders, talking earnestly. ‘Look – can you divert him while I get back up to the house for the car? Then we can meet later.’
‘He’s seen you,’ said his wife.
Nettleton’s whippet eye was fixed on the couple who stood across the road, but as yet he made no move to apprehend them. Fred, swinging like an ape from the iron rail, sighted his parents and waved the toffee apple. Dick agonised over what to do. Nettleton made the decision for him. The children watched in horror as their father pelted off along the Foreshore Road with the man in hot pursuit. That Nettleton was handicapped by a twelve-year age difference and had little chance of catching their father, made them no less afraid. Freddie dropped his toffee apple and started to run too, but someone grabbed his arm and held him back. ‘I’ve got to help me dad!’ He squirmed to free himself.
‘No, Fred!’
Faith had burst into tears. Dusty lifted her up, telling her it was all right, it was just a game. Then, with a struggling Freddie in tow and a toffee apple adhering to the feather in her hat, she hustled them back in the direction of the Spa.
Dickie continued to run with the detective panting behind him. By a stroke of luck the cliff railway was just closing its doors and he managed to squeeze through the gap before it began its climb up to town. Nettleton gasped to a halt at the barrier and, with no hope of catching the lift by the steps that ran alongside, he was forced to watch his quarry doff his hat in a cheery goodbye.
* * *
Dickie had arrived back at the house before his family and had started the car in readiness for their departure. Seeing them burst from the lift on the Spa, he used a hand to urge them to hurry and opened the doors. The boy’s face lit up, but Dusty held him back. She approached the car but did not climb in. ‘Children, go into the house and get your things together.’ Dickie said they hadn’t got time for that, but his wife said firmly, ‘Do as you’re told.’ She waited for them to scamper up the steps before turning to Dickie. ‘And where were you thinking of running to this time?’
‘Paris, like I said.’ Dickie motioned for her to get into the car.
‘We’re not coming with you.’ As he stared at her in disbelief, she told him why. ‘I’ve always stood up for you, Richard, always done as you wanted, but I’m sick of hiding, sick of running with no end in sight.’
Dickie’s mood had changed. ‘What you mean is, ye’ve got the children you’ve always wanted, ye don’t need me any more.’
She did not retaliate, but spoke quietly. ‘I believed you wanted them too.’
‘That was before I knew what they were going to do to us.’ He shook his head and stared at the gooey red syrup of the toffee apple on her blouse. ‘They’ve changed you, Dusty.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘Of course they have! Motherhood isn’t just a title, it’s a whole way of life, but that doesn’t mean I love you any the less.’
‘Then come with me, all of yese,’ he implored.
‘No.’ She stood firm. ‘I will not subject them again to what they’ve just witnessed. I’d rather they stayed with Belle.’
‘Ah, go on back to York, then!’ He flicked his hand dismissively. ‘Just gimme some money an’ I’ll be on my way.’ He saw her hesitation. ‘Oh, thanks! Leave me with nothing, would ye?’
‘It won’t get you far.’ She handed him some notes.
He snatched it. ‘It’ll do for now,’ then, grim-faced, he climbed into the chugging car and drove away.
* * *
Dusty felt tired and sooty as she and the children alighted from the York train later that day. By co
urtesy of a neighbour, she had telephoned Peasholme to say that she would be coming home. Erin, who had answered the call, had no need to ask the reason; the mere tone of her sister-in-law’s voice conveyed bad news. When she told the others, her daughter announced that she would go and meet them at the station. Dusty could see Belle now, limping down the platform towards them. She hoped there was not going to be a scene.
But when the two women came together, Belle merely said hello, took hold of Faith’s other hand and with the little girl between them, they walked towards the exit. Julia held onto one of the handles of Dusty’s valise. Fred, his coconut jammed in his bucket and his spade held like a sentry’s rifle, wandered aimlessly behind:
Belle was conserving her questions until the children were safely in bed, though one only had to look at their faces to see that a calamity had occurred. She tried to picture what this might have been, conjuring visions of Dickie with the police in pursuit. Thus occupied, she had been staring at a man without even realising it. Then consciousness returned and she saw that it was Brian. Under her supposed inspection, he had faltered in his step, but now continued weaving towards her through the milling travellers. Belle passed a swift look at the children; had they seen him? When their expressions remained unmoved, she asked Dusty to walk on with them and she would follow.
Thankfully, in the flow of bodies, the tired children walked straight past Brian without seeing him, her aunt too. As he neared, Belle gave a tight smile and said hello, then turned to the young bespectacled woman on his arm.
Brian raised his hat, looking acutely embarrassed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Teale. Have you been taking a trip?’ Belle murmured that she had been meeting her aunt. He noticed that her eyes were on his companion and was forced to introduce her. ‘May I present my wife, Margaret.’
The young woman was obviously besotted with her new husband and only removed her hold on him to shake hands with Belle. Margaret had known Brian in his professional capacity for some years. He had tended her invalid widowed mother who had recently died. After devoting years of her life to nursing her parent, she had given up hope of losing her spinsterhood, so when the doctor had blurted out a proposal little more than three weeks ago it had come as a complete surprise.
But not as big a surprise as to Brian himself. He wanted to ask Belle now if her uncle was still in hiding at her house, to tell her that he had entertained the idea of sending the police round but his feelings for her had overcome this. He wanted to say how much it hurt to even think of her. But instead, her undisguised shock caused him to jabber, ‘I’m afraid we must dash, we have a train to catch. So nice to see you.’ And with this he walked on. The woman gave a parting smile to Belle who heard her ask, ‘Is that one of your patients?’ She stood there gawping after them until the arrival of an express enveloped her in steam and noise. Tensing against the assault on her ears, she hurried after the others.
* * *
Her grandmother was the only person there when they arrived. Belle took the children upstairs to wash, whilst her aunt made the grim report from Scarborough. Thomasin noticed that something had unsettled Belle but was too concerned with the fate of her son to question at the moment. Only after dinner, when Dusty had gone to bed and Erin picked up the evening paper did she learn what it was.
Erin gasped and read out loud: ‘“Doctor Brian Dyson and his wife Margaret, who were married last Saturday, left York today to spend their honeymoon in Bloemfontein, South Africa. Dr Dyson explained the unusual venue by saying that he hoped to set up practice there, his main concern being the Boer children of the internment camps, where there is said to be epidemics of measles, dysentery and chickenpox.”’ Erin looked agog at Belle. ‘That was awfully quick, wasn’t it? I can’t believe Brian would be so impulsive, he’s such a sensible sort. Well, ye know what it is, don’t ye? She’s caught him on the rebound – and whose fault is that, might I ask?’
‘She’s welcome to him,’ said her daughter bluntly.
Erin was barely listening. ‘She must be a right hussy.’
‘Actually she seemed very sweet,’ said Belle, her face expressionless. ‘I met them this afternoon at the railway station. She seemed totally besotted with Brian – never let go of his arm.’
‘What was she like?’ asked her mother. ‘As plain as a pikestaff, I’ll bet. Helped him to get over the misery of breaking up with you then snapped him up before he knew what had hit him!’
‘Mother, you don’t know her, you’ve no right to judge.’
‘Yet another crime to add to my brother’s list,’ said Erin bitterly. Her daughter said Dickie could not be held responsible for Brian’s marrying someone else. ‘Yes he can! If Dickie hadn’t stirred up trouble it might be you who was going away on your honeymoon now.’ Erin’s eyes had moved on to the editorial. ‘Still, much as I’d like to see you married I wouldn’t want to be reading this about you. They’re saying Brian should stay in the country where he trained instead of using his skill to treat our enemies. I have to agree with them. I mean, the Boers aren’t likely to pay for their treatment, are they? If he has to practise charity there’s more deserving cases over here.’
Tired of her mother’s opinions, Belle stood. ‘Well, I for one commend him, and her too. They’re very brave people. Now, I’m going to see what The Great Unwashed are up to; it’s too quiet up there.’
When Belle had left, Thomasin said grimly, ‘I knew something had upset her; she was very subdued when she came in.’
‘She’s only herself to blame,’ said Erin. ‘He’s been after her to marry him for years.’
‘Yes well, I’m sure she feels bad enough without you harping on about it, Erin.’
* * *
Belle found it hard to sleep that night. Her spine was aching but that wasn’t the main cause. She just couldn’t stop picturing Brian with his wife in bed. ‘Is she one of your patients?’ the girl had said. Huh! she would be pretty shocked had she been in Belle’s room on certain nights. The thought caused her to grow hotter and she flung the covers off. It had only been three weeks since he was blowing his top about her supposed infidelity and here he was married! He must have been seeing this woman for ages, the hypocrite.
The baby started to cry. With a curse, Belle put on a robe and went to pick him up to save Sally the need. The crying had stopped by the time she arrived. She stood a moment watching her aunt lay the infant against her shoulder and shush him gently, swaying from side to side.
Dusty pressed her cheek to the little head, humming and rocking, unaware of her audience. Belle limped back to bed.
* * *
Sonny returned from Ireland to find his car gone and a patch of discoloured wallpaper where once had hung a painting by his son. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cut my wrists,’ he said to Dusty when she handed over the painting with an apology. ‘He thought I did that.’
Losing track of his prey, Nettleton had re-taken his lodgings at The Black Swan, but when a letter arrived for Mrs R. Feeney with a Paris postmark, he took the first train back to Leeds, drew out some cash, and informed his wife that he was going to the Continent. Had he been allowed access to the letter itself, he would have known precisely where to catch his man, but after letting him view the envelope for half a crown, Kettley had snatched it back.
Dusty read the plea for her to change her mind and come to him, then put it into a drawer. She would not be going; neither would she reply. The children needed her here.
Having not yet found suitable accommodation, Belle was still in residence at Peasholme. Her grandmother was beginning to regret her open invitation. Not only were the upstairs rooms full of children, but Belle seemed to have commandeered most of downstairs too, with piano lessons in one room and maths tuition in another – not to mention all the campaigning that was going on. Many times Thomasin was on the brink of telling her grand-daughter that enough was enough, but then she would remind herself not to be so cantankerous; Belle would be gone soon – and then you ’ll miss
her, won’t you?
The last weeks of August were difficult ones for all, but especially for Dusty. Nothing she could say would cheer Freddie up, and the girls were growing extremely ill-behaved. Normally it was her policy to coax rather than censure, but her efforts to check the highly-strung Julia were proving rather ineffectual today. After setting the older children their lessons, Belle had gone out campaigning. Erin was at the factory. Only Thomasin was in the house. The baby was grizzling and rubbing its face in discomfort. Dusty was trying her best to soothe him, but he just wouldn’t stop crying. ‘Julia, dear, sit down and I’ll come and read you a story in a moment.’ Dusty grew more agitated, patted the infant’s back and jiggled him up and down. Julia continued to throw herself about the room, giggling and screaming, dancing, jumping. Her sister started to copy her. The baby grizzled and whined. Dusty felt a surge of panic. She didn’t know which child to tend first. ‘Stop it now,’ she told them harshly. Then louder, ‘Stop it!’ Faith sat down immediately and jammed a thumb in her mouth, looking up at Dusty with wide eyes, but Julia continued to shriek and dance and laugh. The baby screamed louder. Dusty wanted to throw him across the room. Horrified with herself, she carried him back to the nursery and, putting him in his crib, slammed the door on his noise.
Julia was still hurtling about the room, giggling. Dusty took hold of her by the arms and shook her. ‘Stop it, Julia! Stop trying to make me angry! I won’t have it!’ Arms pinioned, the child flopped about like a puppet, still giggling. Dusty jerked her to her feet and slapped her.
The silliness abated. Julia’s mouth turned down and her brown eyes welled tears. Dusty bit her lip, then pulled the child into an embrace.
Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4) Page 47
