The Honeyfield Bequest Read online

  Her gentle smile told him he’d said the right thing. ‘If you try hard, I’m sure you can learn to … to ignore it.’

  Why? he wondered. Why should he deny this ability if it helped people?

  One day he’d go and visit this Greyladies place and perhaps speak to someone there about the strangeness in the family.

  But he knew how angry it would make his father, so he’d not mention it. And he was quite sure his mother wouldn’t talk about it again either.

  His mother never spoke of it again but as the years passed Nathan’s gifts remained as strong as ever. He didn’t want to ignore them. Watching his parents, he decided that if he ever got married, it’d be to someone who didn’t want him to hide these strange abilities. They were part of him, after all.

  It might be best, he decided, not to marry at all. Because his mother wasn’t really happy, and his father was always too watchful about what his wife and his son were doing.

  Trying to live with someone else seemed to cause so many complications that it wasn’t worth it.

  What’s more, as soon as he was grown up and was earning his living, he’d move away from home. He liked the idea of living quietly on his own, liked it very much.

  Chapter Two

  After their first meeting, Kathleen met Ernest in the park several times, at first only once a week, then she relented and agreed to meet him twice a week. He seemed a kind man and she was touched by his air of unhappiness, but she didn’t find him at all attractive and didn’t want to be more than his friend.

  He told her what life was like in his home. Very comfortable physically, it sounded, with two maids and a cook, and everyone with their own bedroom and plenty to eat – but it must have been uncomfortable in mood, because his father sounded to be worse than hers about bossing people around.

  The Seatons didn’t keep a carriage, but then they rarely went anywhere except to St John’s parish church on Sundays, and they walked there, even when it was raining, so that didn’t matter.

  ‘My mother insists we all go together. It’s very boring,’ Ernest said.

  ‘That’s Church of England, isn’t it? We’re Catholics.’

  ‘Oh yes. I suppose you are. I remember, now, my father mentioned it when he hired Keller. He doesn’t usually hire Catholics or the Irish, but he said there was no one else at all suitable and your father came highly recommended.’ He hesitated. ‘Um, I don’t know much about Catholics.’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t one. The Church is run by the priests and they’re always interfering in people’s lives. And the nuns teach the girls at school. They wanted me to go to college and become a teacher, but Da wouldn’t hear of it. He’s—’ She broke off. Best keep her worries to herself.

  He looked at her and stopped. ‘It’s you who sound angry now.’

  ‘Father Michael came round to see my parents last night and I overheard them talking. Well, actually, I eavesdropped. Da was saying I turn twenty-one next week and the priest said they should get me married off before I become an old spinster – or go to the bad. How dare he say that about me?’

  ‘You’re not the sort of girl who goes to the bad. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘No, I’m not. But I’m not the sort to get married, either, thank you very much. Once a woman does that, she’s a slave to her husband – and to the Church. Our priest only thinks of women as breeders of children and housekeepers.’

  He blinked as if she’d shocked him with such frank talk, so she changed the subject, telling him about a book on London she’d borrowed from the library. ‘Such lovely photos, it had. I’m going there one day. I want to see the new King and Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London. And the big stores. Not that I’d have any money to spend, but at least I’d be able to look and dream.’

  ‘I’ve never been to London, either.’

  ‘But your family could afford it any time you wanted.’

  He smiled at her. ‘My father would throw a fit at the mere idea of wasting time on gallivanting round London, or taking a holiday of any kind, except for Christmas and Easter.’

  ‘He sounds as much a bully as my father.’

  Ernest’s face became unhappy again. ‘More, I should think.’

  The following Saturday Kathleen turned twenty-one. Her mother wished her happy birthday, the manageress at the café gave her a small iced cake to mark the occasion and that was it.

  This birthday was a magic number, she thought bitterly, supposed to make you an adult and independent, but if you didn’t have any money, how could you be independent? As far as she could see, women were never able to order their own lives. They didn’t have the vote, their wages were lower than men’s and their fathers bossed them around till they passed them on to a husband, who did even worse things to them.

  When she got home from work on the Saturday afternoon, her mother looked nervous. Her father wasn’t back yet and tea was already on the table: ham, with a boiled egg as well for her father, bread and butter, apple pie and custard to follow.

  In the evening, her father stayed home and wouldn’t let her go round to her friend Jenny’s, as she’d planned. ‘We’ve got the priest coming tonight,’ he said curtly. ‘You’ll stay home and listen to what he says.’

  The sharp tone of his voice made her heart sink. Had he found out about her afternoon walks with Ernest?

  After tea she waited for them to tell her exactly why the priest was coming, but they didn’t. She got out one of her library books but her father told her to put that rubbish away and talk to her mother.

  After that he ignored them and read his newspaper, but her mother hardly said a word. Her mother never did say much when her father was around.

  It was a relief when there was a knock on the door. Let’s get it over with, Kathleen thought, bracing herself.

  Father Michael came in, not smiling this evening as he usually did.

  ‘Will I get you a cup of tea, Father?’ her mother asked, voice shaking with nervousness.

  ‘No, Mrs Keller, not today, I thank you. I just had one at the last house. Let’s have our little chat, shall we?’

  So they all sat in the parlour, which smelt of furniture polish and the new linoleum.

  Her father said by way of introduction, ‘I’ve asked the good father to speak to you about your future, Kathleen Frances.’

  She said nothing, waiting for the blow to fall. Her father was the only person to use her full name, and today he’d said it sharply as if he was angry with her.

  The priest took over. ‘You’re twenty-one years old now, Kathleen, a young woman in her prime. It’s a good age at which to marry, but your parents are worried because you’ve shown no interest in any of our young men.’

  ‘I don’t want to get married, thank you, Father.’

  He sucked in his breath. ‘How can you say that? It’s a young woman’s Christian duty to marry and have children.’

  ‘Some of them don’t.’

  It was her father’s turn to breathe deeply.

  ‘Ah, and it’s sorry such young women are about not being able to get married. They talk to me about it, you know. Except for those who have a calling, of course, and you’ve shown no interest in wanting to become a nun.’

  ‘No, I’d not fancy that.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. Now, I want you to have a good long think about it and then do your duty, find a young man and raise a family. You’ll be the happier for it, I promise you.’

  She didn’t say anything, but she hadn’t changed her mind and she didn’t agree with his view of what made a woman happy.

  Her father cleared his throat. ‘I put the word about at church and I’ve been spoken to by Desmond Mannion, Father. He’d be interested in courting Kathleen, he says. I’ve told him I’m agreeable because he’s got a decent job.’

  She stared at her father in shock. ‘But he’s a bully and everyone knows all the men in his family beat their wives.’

  ‘Then the wives should behave themselves better, shoul
dn’t they?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t touch Desmond with a barge pole let alone marry him. He’s a horrible man and he doesn’t even keep himself clean.’

  ‘It’s up to a wife to keep her family clean. Anyway, you haven’t found yourself a husband so I took it on myself. The Mannions are doing well. Desmond’s in steady work on the railways and will be a good provider, and you, young lady, are far too fussy about keeping clean. You cost me a fortune in soap.’

  She leant forward and said loudly and clearly, ‘I will not even consider courting a man like that.’

  ‘You are living in my house and you will do as I tell you or get out.’

  The priest intervened. ‘Shhh, now, gently does it, Fergus. Kathleen, my dear, couldn’t you just give it a try? Walk out with Desmond and see how you go.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I can’t stand him.’

  Her father clouted her on the side of the head, sending her spinning across the room.

  ‘Fergus Keller, what do you think you’re doing hitting our Kathleen like that!’ her mother said. ‘In front of the father, too. You know I won’t have violence.’

  It was the one thing her mother would stand up to him for. And he only threatened violence when he was drunk, usually.

  ‘She deserves it, Deirdre. She’d make a saint furious, that one would.’ He came across and yanked his daughter to her feet. ‘I am the master of this house and I have spoken, Kathleen Frances Keller. You will marry Desmond Mannion.’ He shook her like a dog shakes a rat, then flung her away from him.

  He rarely got that angry but when he did, you had to be careful what you said and did. She kept silent but promised herself she’d not give in. She’d rather run away than marry a man like that. Far away.

  ‘Let us all pray for the Lord’s guidance about this,’ the priest said hastily.

  Her father thrust her to her knees in front of Father Michael who began a long, rambling prayer. By the time it was over her knees were aching and her cheek was throbbing.

  Her father looked to have calmed down a little, or at least the wild light had gone out of his eyes. But he still gave her a grim, determined look, as if challenging her to defy him.

  Kathleen hadn’t changed her mind, though, and she never would. She could be as stubborn as him about this.

  She would run away this very night, she decided.

  To her dismay they locked her in her room when she went to bed and the following morning her father told her she’d be walking to church with Desmond.

  He waited by the door for her suitor to arrive.

  ‘Can’t you stop Da doing this?’ she whispered to her mother. ‘It’s wrong.’

  ‘I agree with him. You need to be married.’

  She threw her mother a reproachful look and touched the bruise on her cheek. ‘And do you agree with this, too?’

  ‘No. You know I don’t. And he doesn’t usually beat people. But you do need bringing into step, Kathleen. You’ve grown too uppity, working in that fancy tea room. A woman needs a husband. Look at your sisters. Nice little families they’ve got.’

  Families that were getting bigger all the time, she thought. So far, Josie and May had become pregnant with a new baby each year, so their families wouldn’t stay little for long. Unless they died in childbirth, as her mother’s next sister had.

  No. The last thing Kathleen wanted was to get married. And she wouldn’t do it. They couldn’t make her say the words, after all, even if they dragged her to the church.

  A knock at the door revealed Desmond, big jowly face shiny with washing and his weekly clean shirt making the skin on his neck look even redder. He was slightly shorter than she was, because she was tall for a woman, but he was broader and very strong with it. She shivered. She’d not stand a chance of fighting him off.

  ‘Kathleen’s a little shy about walking out with you,’ her father said. ‘So you’ll need to hold on to her tightly till she gets used to a man’s touch.’

  Desmond came across to her, frowning as she turned round to display her bruised face. He looked at her father for an explanation.

  ‘She had a little fall yesterday,’ he said.

  From the look Desmond threw him, he understood exactly how she’d got the bruise and wasn’t pleased by it. He studied her as if assessing her worth before saying, ‘Good morning to you, Kathleen Frances.’

  She thought it best to mutter, ‘Good morning,’ back to him.

  ‘We’ll be off, then.’ Her father scowled at her again. ‘I’m hungry. I don’t like waiting for my breakfast till after the later Mass. Don’t make me have to do it again, miss!’

  As they walked out on to the street, Desmond took her arm and didn’t let go of it. Worse still, his eyes hardly left her body. It was as if he was assessing what she was like without her clothes on. It made her feel humiliated, even though he hadn’t touched her body, except for her arm.

  How quickly could she run away, she wondered? And where would she go? She couldn’t run away from work because she’d not be able to take her spare clothes with her, but if they kept locking her up at night, she’d not be able to leave.

  She didn’t say a prayer in church because she was done with a deity whose priest and worshippers treated her like a slave without a mind of her own.

  After Mass was over, she was marched home and then her father said, ‘We’ll see you on Tuesday evening, Desmond lad. You can sit in the front room and chat to her, do a bit of courting.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Keller. I’ll look forward to that.’

  He sniggered and she guessed he’d be doing more than talking, and what’s more, they’d let him maul her around.

  ‘Goodbye, Mrs Keller, Kathleen Frances.’

  When he’d gone she rushed for the back scullery and vomited her sick disgust into the sink.

  Her father came and leant against the doorpost. ‘Vomit as much as you like, girl. It’s your own fault. You should have found yourself another husband if you don’t fancy my choice of man. Trouble is, most of the ones your age are taken now.’

  ‘I don’t want a husband at all and I won’t marry him.’

  His hands bunched into fists, but he didn’t hit her again. The expression on his face said it wouldn’t take much to make him lose control, though.

  He’d been angry for days, because his wife had lost the housekeeping money and had to ask him for more. He’d had to give her his drinking money, and that meant him staying at home in the evening. Well, serve them both right. It just showed you shouldn’t marry someone you didn’t even like.

  On Monday morning Kathleen’s father got ready for work and as he was picking up his lunch box, he studied her face. ‘You’d better stay home from work today. That’s a bad bruise. I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly.’

  It was as near as he’d ever come to an apology, but he was still intending to marry her to a brute, so she didn’t care what he said. She was going to run away. She’d already thought what to say to that. ‘I can’t stay at home. I’d lose my job and then how would I save for my wedding?’

  ‘Hmm. I’m glad to see you’re starting to think straight. You’d better tell that manager you had a fall.’

  She inclined her head but couldn’t force her mouth to agree with him.

  He turned to her mother. ‘You’ll walk with her to work and escort her home again in the evening from now on.’

  Her mother made one of her rare protests. ‘But I need to cook tea and—’

  ‘Tea can wait. We need to keep her safe till she’s wed. It’ll only be for a month or so.’

  ‘Yes, Fergus.’

  At the tea room the manager gasped in shock at the sight of her face. The other waitresses sniggered but didn’t look surprised. One of them had seen her on the way back from church yesterday and must have told the others.

  ‘I had a bad fall on Saturday,’ she said but made sure her tone said otherwise.

  ‘Well, we can’t let our customers see you like that. And if you come in again with a bruis
ed face, I’ll have to replace you with someone more presentable.’

  ‘I’ve got some face powder,’ one of the other waitresses offered as they got ready. ‘That’ll hide it a bit.’

  But it didn’t hide much and Kathleen hated the itchy feel of the horrid stuff on her skin.

  At first they kept her in the back room, helping put food on the plates and set out the tea things on trays, but a rush of customers meant she had to go out and serve. That took all her courage.

  Ernest came in and she saw the exact moment he caught sight of her face. He took a hasty step forward and she shook her head slightly. He stopped moving towards her, thank goodness.

  When she went to serve him, he whispered, ‘What happened?’

  Only to him did she tell the truth. ‘My father thumped me.’

  ‘Your father did this!’

  ‘Yes. It’s his way of trying to persuade me to marry a man I detest.’

  ‘Marry! Are you going to do it?’

  ‘Not if I can find a way to escape.’

  As another waitress passed by he said loudly, ‘And a piece of apple pie as well, miss.’

  She took the food to him and he caught hold of her arm. ‘Will you meet me in our usual place during your afternoon break? Please.’

  She nodded and went to get another customer’s order.

  Neither her father nor her mother seemed to have remembered her afternoon breaks and she prayed it’d stay that way.

  Chapter Three

  When she left the tea room, Kathleen walked straight past Ernest, saying in a low voice, ‘I’ll follow you to make sure no one sees us together.’ Then she stopped to look in a shop window and let him overtake her.

  He walked briskly along the street and turned into the park. At the top of the hill, he sat on one bench and she chose another one nearby, where she was hidden from the road by some bushes.