Binchy ( 2000 ) Scarlet Feather

by Maeve Binchy

  'So where…'

  'Put them in Neil's and Mandy's rooms, or wherever. Haven't we a house full of bedrooms, for heaven's sake?' He was clearly irritated and wanted to get back to the party. Hannah went over to the ill-assorted group at the window.

  'Now children, don't annoy Neil's client, Mr… um…' she began.

  'Oh, but they're not annoying me at all—delightful company,' Jonathan begged. They were, after all, the only people who had talked to him normally all night. Certainly the only people he had ever met who had asked him whether or not his tongue was black and if he'd had a lot of slaves amongst his friends.

  'Are you staying in this house?' Maud asked hopefully.

  'No, no indeed, I was very kindly asked for supper,' Jonathan said, looking at the ashen face of Neil Mitchell's mother.

  'Time for bed, anyway,' Hannah said.

  'Can Jonathan come round for breakfast?' suggested Maud.

  'I'm not sure that…' Hannah began.

  'Very nice having met you both—we might meet again but sometime, not tomorrow,' Jonathan said hastily and the children left with reluctance.

  Hannah ushered them up the broad, sweeping staircase of Oaklands before any more invitations could be issued; she showed them their bedrooms and said they were to remain there quietly in the morning, since the house didn't wake too early on the day after a party.

  'Are your nerves bad? Like our mother's nerves are bad?' Maud asked.

  'Of course they're not,' Hannah snapped. Then she recovered herself. 'Now it's all been very upsetting for you but it will get sorted out. Your uncle will see to that,' she said firmly, attempting to distance herself.

  'Which is my room?'

  'Whichever one you like.' Hannah pointed to the corridor where Amanda and Neil's old bedrooms still held souvenirs they had never collected for their new lives. There was a bathroom in between.

  'Goodnight, now, and sleep well. We'll talk about everything in the morning.' She went downstairs with a heavy sigh. Her shoes were very tight, Neil had brought an African man and left him for everyone else to entertain and Cathy was being insufferable—who ever said it was easy giving a party? Even if you did have a caterer?

  'Which room will you have?' Simon asked. They had done a complete tour.

  'I'd like the one with all the coats in it,' Maud said.

  'But she didn't say…'

  'She didn't say not this one either,' Maud was determined.

  'It could be their own bedroom, look, it opens into a bathroom, I don't think you should sleep here, Maud.'

  'She said wherever we liked. We could put the coats on chairs.' They stood for a while in Jock and Hannah Mitchell's large bedroom.

  'There's a television in this one.' Simon was sorry he hadn't found it first.

  'Yes, but I have to move all these old coats and scarves and things.' Maud felt that made things equal. They pushed the coats on to chairs and, mainly, on to the floor.

  'Look, she has all this make-up that mother used to have on her dressing-table before her nerves got bad.' Maud picked up some lipsticks.

  'What are the black things?'

  'They're for eyebrows.'

  Simon drew heavy dark eyebrows and then a moustache. The sudden ringing out of bells and celebratory shrieks startled him and the pencil broke, so he used another one. Maud put on a dark red lipstick and then used a pinker shade to make little spots on her cheeks. She picked up a cut-glass atomiser and began to spray.

  'Hey, that got in my eye,' Simon said, picking up what looked like a large can of hair lacquer in retaliation. It turned out to be some kind of mousse. It went all over the dressing-table. 'What on earth is that?' he wondered.

  'It could be shaving cream,' Maud thought.

  'That must be it. Imagine her wanting that.'

  There were long earrings which Maud tried on, but they were for pierced ears, so she went to the bathroom and found some elastoplast. She admired herself. Simon had found a short fur jacket and put it on with a man's hat. They were bouncing happily on the two large beds with white counterpanes when two women came in.

  They gasped when they saw the clothes on the floor; and one of them screamed when she saw

  Simon wearing her recently remodelled mink jacket. Her screams frightened Maud and Simon, who screamed back and Hannah and Jock came running up the stairs—followed by a small crowd—to find out what had happened.

  Neil was in the kitchen.

  'What in the name of God's that caterwauling upstairs,' he asked.

  'Stay out of it, if you investigate, you'll only become part of it,' Cathy grinned.

  'But listen to them!'

  'Keep well out of it,' she warned.

  'We'll give Jonathan a lift back when the time comes, okay?' Neil said.

  'The time won't come for me until everyone else is gone. You should take him home yourself and let me come back under my own steam in the van.'

  More voices were raised upstairs.

  'I'd really better go and see what's happening,' Neil said, and he was gone.

  Jonathan brought some ashtrays into the kitchen and wiped them.

  'Terrible smokers, the older generation,' Cathy smiled at him.

  'I'd like to slip away now, do you think I could get a taxi?'

  'Not on New Year's Eve, but Neil's going to drive you home anyway.'

  'I don't want to put him out any more.'

  'It won't put him out at all, but he won't be able to go for a while. Do you want to use that bike out in the back?'

  'Do you think I could?' His eyes were full of relief.

  'Certainly. It's an old one. It used to belong to Neil. Go now, Jonathan, while the third world war is being fought upstairs.'

  'I suppose I could make things worse and ask if I could have a bed for the night,' he said with a grin.

  'Now, that's something I'd like to see,' Cathy said.

  'Who are the children anyway?'

  'A long story, cousins, children of Neil's very hopeless uncle and aunt. It's their first night here.'

  'It could very well be their last.'

  Tom walked on up from the canal, and over and through the Georgian streets and down a lane he had never been down before. And that's where he saw it. A wrought-iron gate leading into a cobbled courtyard, and what looked like an old coach house that had been converted for some business. He pushed open the iron gate and went up to the door where there seemed to be some kind of notice. It was a piece of cardboard where someone had written For Sale. There was a phone number to contact for details. Bells were ringing all over Dublin, it was midnight, a new year had arrived. Tom peered through the windows. He had found their premises.

  Mrs Ryan told Cathy that she was a little the worse for wear. Cathy said the solution was three glasses of water and three small slices of very thin bread and butter, never known to fail. Mrs Ryan ate the bread and drank the water dutifully and pronounced herself fine. Cathy filled the champagne glasses for midnight, and as the bells rang over the city they all toasted each other and sang Auld Lang Syne. Hannah Mitchell looked almost pleased with it all. Cathy decided to let her have her moment, and moved quickly and quietly away from the circle of entwined hands.

  She cleared and washed and dried in the kitchen, she packed crates and neatly arranged several little dishes of goodies for Hannah to discover the next day, in the refrigerator. She moved in and out between the kitchen and the van; the bulk of the work was done. Now all she had to worry about was serving more wine, and more coffee. She could scoop the coffee cups away later. She felt tired in every one of her bones. She heard the telephone ring, thank God. Neil's sister had finally called them. Then she heard Hannah say in tones of disbelief, 'Cathy. You want to talk to Cathy?' She moved to the hall. Her mother-in-law stood there holding the receiver as if it might be transmitting a disease.

  'It's for you,' she said, astounded.

  Please let it not be bad news from home, Cathy prayed; may it not be her mother or father taken ill ha
ving chicken in a basket at the pub. Or some terrible phone call from Chicago where all her sisters and brothers had gone to live so long ago.

  'Cathy,' said Tom, 'I've found it.'

  'Found what?' she asked, not sure whether to be overcome with relief that it wasn't bad news, or with rage that he had phoned her here.

  'The premises,' he said. 'I've found the place where Scarlet Feather is going to live.'

  Chapter One

  JANUARY

  The year began in different ways in different houses. Tom Feather woke in Stoneyfield flats with a pain in his shoulders and a stiff neck… The armchair had not been at all comfortable. He got some cold orange juice from the fridge, and fixed a flower to the glass with some sticky tape. He marched straight into the bedroom.

  'Happy New Year to the most beautiful, saintly and forgiving woman in the world,' he said.

  Marcella woke and rubbed her eyes.' I'm not saintly and forgiving, I'm furious with you,' she began.

  'But you haven't denied that you are beautiful, and I have totally forgiven you,' he said happily.

  'What do you mean? There was nothing to forgive me for.' She was very indignant indeed.

  'Quite right, which is why we will say no more about it. I should thank you instead, because last night I found the premises.'

  'You what?'

  'I know it's all due to you: if you hadn't behaved so badly and forced me to leave that party, I'd never have found the place. I'll take you to see it as soon as you're dressed so drink up that beautiful elegant drink I've prepared for you and—'

  'If you think for one moment that I'm going to leap out of bed and—'

  'You're so right. I do not think that for one moment. Instead I think I'm going to leap into bed. What a truly great idea.' and he had his crumpled clothes off as he spoke.

  In Neil and Cathy's house at Waterview the phone rang. 'It's your mother, saying all the guests are dead from salmonella,' Cathy said.

  'More likely to be some shrink saying that you've been committed to a mental home for advanced paranoia,' Neil said, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

  'I suppose we could leave it?' she said doubtfully.

  'When do we ever?' Neil replied, reaching down under the bed where the phone was nestling. 'Anyway it's probably Tom.'

  It wasn't Tom, it was about Jonathan. Neil was half out of bed.

  'Tell them I'm on my way,' he was saying.

  Cathy put on the coffee as he dressed.

  'No time,' he was protesting.

  'Listen, I've put it in a flask. Take it with you, you can drink it in the car,' she said.

  He came back, took the flask and kissed her. 'I'm very sorry, hon. I did want to go and see this place with you this morning, you know I did.'

  'I know, this is more important. Go.'

  'And don't sign anything or accept anything until we've had someone take a look at it.'

  'No, Mr Lawyer, you know I won't!'

  'Now of course I do have the address in case this thing ends early. I could come straight there.'

  'It won't end early, Neil, it will take all day. Go and save him before it's too late.'

  Cathy watched him from the window. As he put the flask down on the frosty ground in order to open the car door, he must have known she would be watching. He waved up at her. Jonathan was lucky that he had Neil Mitchell in his corner. Neil would worry at the case like a dog with a bone, just as he would get a colleague to examine the title deeds of this place, which looked like the perfect premises at last.

  JT and Maura Feather woke up in Fatima, a small red-brick house in a quiet road. They used to be workers' cottages, but the Feathers had noted with disapproval that a lot of trendy younger people were buying. Attracting burglars to the area.

  'I never thought we'd live to see another year, JT. The Lord must have spared us for some purpose,' Maura said. She was a tall, thin woman with a long, sad face permanently set in the lines of a sorrowing Madonna bent low by the wickedness of the world.

  Her husband was big and broad-shouldered, made strong by years of hard physical work in the building trade. His weather-beaten face had looked the same always.

  'It's not that we're really all that old in terms of years, but I know what you mean,' JT agreed with her. He turned on the tea-making machine between their beds. It had been a gift from Tom. Maura had thought it was more trouble than it was worth, what with remembering to wash the pot and get fresh milk, but it was handy enough not to have to go down to the cold kitchen.

  'Another year begun and not a sign of either of them wanting to do a hand's turn in the business,' he sighed heavily.

  'Or settling down in marriage as God intended,' Maura sniffed.

  'Ah, marriage is a different thing,' JT said. 'Anyone can marry or not marry, but no two other boys from this area have a ready-made business to walk into, and you have Joe making girls' dresses over in London and Tom making cakes and pastries. It would drive you to an early grave.'

  Maura hated it when he got grey with worry. 'Haven't I told you to stop getting your blood pressure all het up over him,' she warned. 'He's like all young people, just looking out for himself. Just wait until he has a couple of children, then he'll be round to the door pretty fast wondering can he work in the business.'

  'You may be right,' JT nodded, but in his heart he didn't think that he was ever going to see either of his boys ask him to put the words Feather and Son over his builder's yard.

  Muttie Scarlet woke with a start. Something good had happened last night, and he couldn't remember what it was. Then it came back. He had drawn a horse in the pub sweepstake. That was all. Most people would be pleased about this. But to Muttie, who was a serious betting man, there was no skill or science in that kind of thing.

  You just bought a ticket for a raffle and then twenty-one people got a horse, you couldn't even choose your own animal. He had something called Lucky Daughter. No form, nothing known about it, total outsider, probably had three legs. Lizzie didn't understand it at all. She had been pleased for him, said he'd have all the thrill of the race without having to put a week's wages on a horse.

  Poor Lizzie. It was awful trying to explain anything at all about horses to her. And she was very sure that nothing she earned ever ended up at the bookmaker's. But to be fair, she did put the food on the table and didn't ask him for much from his dole money. Muttie hadn't known a week's wages for a long time. He had a bad back. But still and all, it wasn't too bad to get out of bed and bring Lizzie a mug of tea. She'd be going out to people's houses later to clean, to clear up their New Year's Eves for them. Lizzie was a great support to them all, the children in Chicago and to Cathy. Muttie smiled to himself as he often did over the fast one that their Cathy had done, grabbing Neil the son and heir of Oaklands, Hannah Mitchell's pride and joy. Even if he hadn't liked the boy, Muttie would have been overjoyed at that marriage. Just to see the hard, hate-filled face of Hannah at the wedding was vengeance enough for all that she had put poor Lizzie through up in that house. But Neil himself, as it happened, was a grand fellow. You couldn't meet a nicer lad in a month of Sundays. It was odd the way things turned out, Muttie told himself as he went to make the tea.

  Hannah and Jock Mitchell woke at Oaklands.

  'Well,' said Hannah menacingly. 'Well, Jock, it's tomorrow now. You said you'd decide "tomorrow".'

  'God that was a good party.' Jock groaned. I feel it not exactly in my bones, more in the front left-side of my head.'

  'I'm not surprised,' Hannah was terse. 'But there's no time to talk about your hangover. We are talking about those children. They are not staying another night in this house.'

  'Don't be hasty,' he pleaded.

  'I'm not being hasty. I was very patient when you and Neil said they had to stay last night. I was a saint out of heaven, not breaking every bone in their bodies when I saw the wreckage they had achieved in here. That jacket of Eileen's will never clean, you know, never. God knows what they managed to smear into it…'


  'Best thing if it doesn't. Makes her look like a vole,' Jock whimpered.

  'You've done enough for Kenneth over the years…'

  'That's not the point.'

  'It is the point.'

  'No, it's not, Hannah. Where else can they go? They're my brother's children. He seems to have abandoned them.' He winced with pain.

  'It's too much,' Hannah protested. 'And they were very rude, both of them, no apology, saying I'd said they could have any room and they had chosen this one. Enough to crucify anyone at what was meant to be a party, a celebration.'

  'You didn't over-indulge yourself?' He had a faint hope that she might also have a hangover, which might tolerate the thought of a Bloody Mary at breakfast.

  'Someone had to keep an eye on things,' she sniffed.

  'Well, didn't Cathy do that very well. I heard a lot of praise for—'

  'What do men know of what needs to be done?'

  'She left the place like a new pin.' He tried to defend his daughter-in-law.

  'Well, at least some of the training I gave her poor mother must have paid off eventually.'

  Hannah would say nothing good about Cathy. Jock gave up. Some things weren't worth fighting over, especially with this hammering in his head.

  'True,' he said, feeling he had somehow let that hard-working girl down. But Cathy of all people would know how it was easier to take the line of least resistance with Hannah.

  'And then running off at the end because she got some phone call in the middle of the night about premises for this crackpot idea of hers.'

  'I know, ridiculous,' said Jock Mitchell, getting up to get a painkiller and feeling like Judas.

  Geraldine had been up since seven o'clock. She had been alone in the Glenstar swimming pool: usually she would have had the company of half a dozen other Glenstar residents, who loved the amenity of their swimming pool. But New Year's Eve had taken its toll. Geraldine did her twelve lengths, washed her hair and went through the arrangements again for today's big charity lunch. She had advised a group to have their function on January the first, since it was often a flat day when people were eager to recover in company. And indeed, the response to the invitation list had been overwhelming. She had been wise to leave that photographer's party early last night. There had been nobody that interested her to talk to, a lot of them much younger than she was. She had slipped away quietly before midnight. She had seen Tom Feather and his dizzy girlfriend there but couldn't get to meet them across the room. Cathy and Neil would have been there, but of course Cathy had been catering the Mitchells' party last night; Geraldine hoped that it had gone well and that there had been a chance to make some useful contacts. Cathy hated that woman so much it was really important that the night had been some kind of success for her in terms of business. Geraldine wished they could find premises soon. She had agreed to back them for the loan when the time came, as had Joe Feather, Tom's rather elusive elder brother. All they had to do was find the place. And then brave, gutsy Cathy wouldn't have to nail a smile on her face and work in the kitchen of her mother-in-law's house, something she hated with a passion. One of the advantages of being single was that there were no mothers-in-law to cope with, Geraldine thought as she poured more coffee.