Sunshine and Showers

by June Francis

  David looked serious. ‘Is there a lot of money involved?’

  ‘Yes! Robbie sold all his previous wife’s property and used the capital to buy the shares. I own the house I live in and its furnishings but he left little else.’

  David was silent.

  ‘I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be bothering you with all this. I can’t even pay you a fee unless I get the money back.’

  David waved her words away. ‘I’m prepared to help you if I can. I presume you don’t have any idea what happened to the documents? You don’t think O’Hara conned your husband into handing over a stack of money and there is no mine? That Rose lied about that?’

  Joy shook her head and told him about Grant’s trip to Ireland. David could not conceal his interest. ‘So Irish miners went out west to try and make their fortune. I’ve always enjoyed Westerns. Now The Twisted Trail…’

  ‘Mary Pickford was in that,’ said Joy.

  David grinned. ‘See, we have something in common. I’d enjoy going out west.’

  ‘You can’t possibly mean that you’d go out there if you discovered the location of the mine?’

  ‘I’m certainly prepared to do so,’ he replied. ‘I’m in need of a good, long break and I’d like to see the country for myself. Once I’ve sorted everything out here, then I’ll take off.’

  Warmth flooded through Joy and her eyes glowed as she looked at him. ‘You really are kind. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘I haven’t got there yet,’ warned David, returning her smile. ‘And I might come back empty-handed.’

  ‘I’ll give you Tilly and Don’s address in New York and you can call on them. They might be able to help you.’

  ‘That could be useful,’ said David. ‘Now would you like more tea? This has gone cold.’

  ‘I’ll go and make a fresh pot, shall I?’ offered Joy.

  ‘Thanks. Then maybe Patsy will be back by the time we’ve drunk it and we’ll know how she got on.’

  ‘I do hope things work out for her,’ said Joy fervently. ‘Then I’ll have one less person to worry about.’ But having said that she knew that she would be praying for David Tanner whilst he was away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The wind was blowing in from the Irish Sea when Patsy left the train at Seaforth Sands terminal. It fluttered tendrils of her light-brown hair against her small ears and chilled her cheeks. She took a deep breath of the fresh salty air before descending the steps on the landward side. This time, Mr Tanner had written down precise instructions for her to find the house. There were several roads she had to look out for before she reached her destination – in particular, Seaforth, Elm and Gladstone. She crossed the road towards the Caradoc Public House and put her best foot forwards.

  Some twenty-five minutes later, Patsy reached her destination. She pushed open the gate and walked up the short path to the front door. Lifting a dolphin-shaped knocker, she banged it hard.

  The door opened immediately as if someone had been watching out for her. A woman, who was as wide as she was tall, stood there, scrutinising Patsy in her navy-blue skirt and navy-blue woollen coat. ‘You the girl who used to be at the Seamen’s Orphanage?’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes! I’m Patsy Doyle,’ she replied with a sinking heart.

  ‘Then get inside.’ The woman seized hold of Patsy’s arm and dragged her into the vestibule. ‘There’s no time to waste. Yer might as well get started right away, so I can be off.’

  Patsy shrugged herself free. ‘Do you mind not handling me like that. You’re not Mrs Smith, I take it?’

  ‘Am I heck! I‘m Mrs Robinson. I was the old lady’s char but I told the lad I couldn’t put up with her or the kids anymore. I’m glad to wash me hands of this place. The kids are playing out back when they should be at school but they all got up late, didn’t they?’ She brushed past Patsy and waddled to the gate.

  ‘But Mrs Smith hasn’t seen my references. I mightn’t suit,’ called Patsy.

  ‘You’ll do her, all right. Beggars can’t be choosers,’ called the woman over her shoulder.

  ‘But-but where is Mrs Smith?’

  ‘Upstairs, messing about, going on about Mister Rodney.’ The woman paused in the gateway. ‘She’s going a bit balmy just like the children’s mother, so you’d better prepare yourself for that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The children’s mother wasted away, didn’t she, half mad with grief,’ replied the woman with ghoulish pleasure. ‘There’s too many ghosts here, but then the children will tell you about it soon enough. Good luck, girl!’ She hurried away.

  Patsy wondered just what kind of household had she come to?

  The stained-glass-windowed vestibule door stood ajar, so she pushed it further open before closing the front door and stepping into a small square hall. On her right was a flight of stairs and ahead was a lobby. All was quiet but for the ticking of a grandmother clock on the wall facing her at the end of the lobby.

  She took two paces forward and saw that there were two doors to her left. A black and white cat suddenly shot round the corner at the end of the hall, swerved on the parquet floor and went through the farthest doorway. The animal so startled her that her heart seemed to jump in her chest. She reached out a hand to steady herself against a dingy brown-painted wall. Should she shout up the stairs for Mrs Smith or should she find the children first?

  She decided on the latter and walked along the lobby and round a corner and came into a room. There was a sofa, as well as a table and chairs and a dresser holding crockery. A sash window on the left looked out over a strip of yard with the dried remains of some plant tangled round a trestle against a wall.

  Suddenly she heard voices and hurried towards the open door at the other end of the room. She came out into what was obviously the kitchen for there was a black-leaded range, shelves and cupboards and a scrubbed table, as well as a gas stove. A door leading outside stood ajar. No wonder it was cold in here. She could hear a boy’s taunting voice and a girl’s shrill one.

  Patsy went outside but had to walk past a couple of adjoining outhouses before she was able to see the children. The sun came out from behind a cloud and for a moment dazzled Patsy. Then it went in again and a few spots of rain fell. She blinked and saw a girl tied to a tree. A boy held what looked like a hatchet and he appeared to be trying to saw through one of the girl’s fair plaits.

  ‘Grenville, stop that or I’ll tie you to a tree, boy, and shoot arrows at you,’ said a quavering voice from above.

  ‘I’m not Grenville, Grandma,’ yelled the boy, throwing back his head and gazing up at the house. ‘You’re confusing me with Dad again.’

  ‘Am I? Who are you, then?’ asked the invisible owner of the voice.

  ‘Nelson, your grandson.’

  Silence. Then the voice said, ‘I’m coming down, and if you haven’t untied Rose by then, I’m going to lock you in the hole.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here, Helen,’ said the boy, taking a penknife from his trouser pocket. ‘I’m not going in there again.’

  He was about to begin sawing through the rope when Patsy hurried forward. ‘Hoy, don’t cut it!’

  The boy whirled round. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m Patsy Doyle and don’t you be swearing at me, my lad. Give me that knife!’ She reached out for it but he put the knife behind his back.

  ‘It’s mine. It was Dad’s and nobody is going to take it away from me. I suppose you’ve come to try us out. Well, I’ll tell you now. We don’t want you.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m keen on you right now but I’m here so I might as well see what your grandmother has to say about this job.’

  ‘She’ll have forgotten you’re coming, so you might as well go away.’

  ‘Not yet I’m not,’ said Patsy. ‘Now, give me that knife.’

  ‘What about me?’ yelled Helen.

  Patsy turned and went over to her. ‘Brothers! What would you do with them?’ she said in a friendl
y voice.

  The girl gazed at her from narrowed eyes. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Patsy Doyle. Your Uncle David sent me.’ She looked at the knots in the rope and shook her head. ‘No wonder your brother’s only way of dealing with this is to cut it. He’s made a right mess of tying you up. He could do with joining the Scouts.’

  ‘Don’t you criticise my brother! It’s not your place,’ said Helen, sticking out her tongue.

  Patsy acted like lightning and seized hold of the tongue. ‘That is not polite!’ The girl struggled to speak and her eyes were furious. ‘I hope you weren’t thinking of giving me further cheek because I’ll not stand for any lip from a kid, whoever you are.’ Patsy removed her hand and, taking a handkerchief from her handbag, wiped her fingers on the white lawn cotton.

  ‘I’m a Red Indian squaw and if I had the hatchet I’d scalp you,’ hissed the girl.

  ‘Not if I get my hands on the hatchet first,’ said Patsy.

  ‘I’m not old enough for the Scouts,’ said Nelson, sitting on a bench and toying with his penknife.

  ‘You could be a Cub. It would keep you out of mischief,’ said Patsy, giving him her full attention.

  He shrugged and ran the blade of the knife across his palm. ‘Have you brothers?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Have you a dad?’

  ‘He was lost at sea.’

  ‘Ours was torpedoed.’

  ‘Hey! What about me?’ cried Helen. ‘I’m still tied to this tree.’

  ‘So you are,’ said Patsy mildly.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to free me?’

  ‘Only if you ask me nicely.’

  The girl rolled her eyes and muttered something indistinct.

  ‘Can’t hear you,’ said Patsy, going over to the tree.

  ‘Will you untie me, please?’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ Patsy set to work on the knots as there was no way she was going to waste a good length of rope. But as soon as the girl was free, she kicked Patsy in the shins. ‘You, little…’ Patsy seized hold of her plait and put her other hand round her waist and lifted her off her feet. ‘I think we need to speak to your grandmother about your manners.’

  ‘Let me go!’ cried the girl, struggling to get free. ‘Don’t tell Grandma! I’ll be good.’

  ‘Yes, let her go!’ shouted Nelson, getting up from the bench and coming towards them with the penknife.

  Patsy swore beneath her breath, lowered his sister to the ground and grabbed his wrist as he lunged towards her. He struggled within her grasp but she would not let him go until he dropped the knife.

  The next moment Patsy found herself under attack from his sister again. ‘You’ve no right to hurt my brother!’ she screamed.

  ‘I’m not doing anything of the sort,’ said Patsy, grabbing hold of her by a plait. ‘Now stop it the pair of you! Why are you behaving like this? I didn’t come to hurt you.’

  ‘Uncle Greg taught me to defend myself,’ said Nelson, tilting his chin. ‘I was getting bullied at school because of my name.’

  ‘Yet you bully your sister by tying her to a tree when he’s not here?’

  ‘It was only a game. I wouldn’t really have cut off her plait,’ sighed Nelson, bending and picking up his penknife. ‘Although she would like it bobbed, wouldn’t you, Helen?’

  The girl nodded. ‘But Grandma might tan the hide off him… and here she comes,’ she hissed.

  Patsy glanced towards the house and saw an elderly woman in pastel shades of trailing chiffon standing a few yards away. Just looking at her clad in such impractical garments in November caused Patsy to shiver. ‘Are you Mrs Smith?’ she asked.

  The old woman did not answer but screwed up her face. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Patsy Doyle. Mr Tanner has sent me here to see if I’ll suit for the position as all-purpose maid and to help with the children.’

  The old woman’s expression altered. ‘If Mr Tanner sent you, then you’ll suit me. He knows what’s what. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Patsy Doyle.’

  ‘Then come inside, Patsy Doyle. I’m at my wits’ end with these children. My husband thinks looking after children is easy. Men, they have no idea. He foisted Frank Molyneux’s brat on me after he died in an accident. His wife was already dead. As if I didn’t have enough with my three. Although, I don’t know where Rodney’s gone. He said he would be back soon but he’s been gone ages.’

  ‘Uncle Rodney is a sailor like Dad was,’ whispered Nelson out of the side of his mouth.

  The old woman glared at him. ‘Did I ask you to speak, boy?’

  ‘No, Grandma.’ Some of the colour had ebbed from Nelson’s face and he appeared to brace himself as if for a blow.

  Patsy said hastily, ‘He was just explaining to me who Rodney is.’

  ‘Why?’ The old woman’s faded blue eyes fastened on her. ‘You know who Rodney is. He’s my son.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Smith. I’ve gathered that,’ said Patsy. ‘Can I make a suggestion? Can we go inside? You’re not dressed for outdoors.’

  ‘Don’t you be telling me what I should wear!’ The old woman’s mouth worked and she came closer so that she was only inches away from Patsy and peered into her face. ‘It’s Joan, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, madam. My name is Patsy Doyle and Mr Tanner has sent me to help with the children,’ she said loudly.

  Mrs Smith’s face lit up. ‘Mr Tanner, such a nice man. He has three sons, you know?’

  Patsy realised Mrs Smith’s mind really was in a muddle because she was getting her Mr Tanner confused with his father. ‘Shall we go inside, madam? You don’t want to catch a chill, do you?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Mrs Smith’s wizened hand caught hold of one of the trailing lengths of chiffon and drew it round an arm. Then with an unsteady gait she made for one of the outhouses and went inside.

  ‘That’s the lavatory,’ said Nelson, putting his penknife in his trouser pocket. ‘Grandma is losing her marbles. I think she’s always been a bit mad, myself. Come on, Helen, let’s go and wash our hands and make a sandwich. It must be time for lunch.’ Without another word he headed towards the house.

  Helen looked up at Patsy, who thought she could see traces of her Aunt Rose in her small heart-shaped face. ‘It’s true. Uncle Greg blames Uncle Rodney never coming back for the way she is.’ The girl turned away and hurried after her brother.

  Patsy decided to wait for Mrs Smith to come out of the lavatory. She recalled that when David Tanner had gone to America it had been in search of this Rodney. It was obvious from what the children had said that he had not been found.

  A shivering Mrs Smith emerged from the lavatory. Patsy gazed at her and felt sad. ‘Are you OK, Mrs Smith?’ When she did not answer, Patsy added, ‘Shall we go inside?’

  ‘Whatever you want to do.’ The old woman hugged herself. ‘I’m cold.’

  Patsy put an arm about her shoulders. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ asked Mrs Smith, gazing at her.

  ‘Yes.’

  A shadow flittered across the old woman’s face. ‘You’re not Rose.’

  ‘No. I’m Patsy.’

  She looked bewildered. ‘I don’t know a Patsy.’

  ‘Mr Tanner sent me to help you.’

  ‘Such a good man, but why do men waste their time in wars?’ said Mrs Smith. ‘I don’t know where Rodney is. Do you know?’

  ‘No,’ said Patsy, ushering her in the direction of the house.

  ‘Rose hates Rodney. She haunts the place and I can’t get rid of her.’

  Patsy felt a tingling in the back of her neck. The last thing she wanted was Rose’s ghost flittering about the house. ‘What do you mean haunts the place?’

  Uncertainty flickered in the old woman’s eyes. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I see my daughter and sometimes I don’t. Do you know where Rodney is?’

  Patsy decided to steer her thoughts in another direction
. ‘I’ve met Greg.’

  ‘Greg is a little imp and I’ve had to give him a few whacks to get him to behave. Wait until his father comes in and I’ll tell him what’s what.’

  Patsy decided that perhaps the best thing to do was ask no more questions. She would wait until Greg arrived home and then she would discuss the situation with him.

  Once inside she settled the old woman near the fire and made her a cup of tea. The children were in the kitchen spreading jam on bread when Patsy heard the sound of an engine.

  Minutes later Greg entered the room.

  ‘You’ve come!’ His relief was obvious.

  ‘Yes. And am I pleased to see you, sir!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Sir!’ He laughed. ‘It’s not me that’s hiring you, Patsy Doyle, so you can dispense with the sir. If you stay, and I hope you will, then your wages will be paid from a trust set up by the children’s father.’ He removed his helmet. ‘I hope the old woman hasn’t given you too much trouble?’

  The children who had wandered into the morning room now reappeared. ‘Uncle Greg!’

  He frowned. ‘What are you two doing here? Why aren’t you at school?’

  ‘We overslept and Grandma didn’t wake us,’ said Nelson.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve behaved yourself for Miss Doyle.’

  The children glanced at Patsy and she read in their faces what they wanted her to say. ‘We’re only just getting to know each other. I doubt that they are going to be my main problem. Mrs Smith is more confused than I imagined.’

  Greg looked grim. ‘Her condition is hard to describe to someone who isn’t living with it. I hope what you’ve experienced so far has not put you off accepting this position. We desperately need someone like yourself here.’

  ‘So Mr Tanner told me,’ said Patsy. ‘But I didn’t expect Mrs Smith to be living in the past quite so much.’

  ‘I know it’s confusing but at least she’s harmless,’ said Greg swiftly. ‘She’s not going to hurt you.’