The Trader's Reward Page 9

  Her skirt was very full, with material bunched towards the back, a style he’d seen grand ladies wearing when they went shopping in town. No woman he’d ever associated with wore clothes like that.

  Her hair was done differently today, too, and she must have found time to wash it, because it was gleaming. Such a beautiful colour of hair, neither red nor brown, but with red-gold glints when the sun caught it. She had a dainty little hat perched on the top of the glorious mass of hair coiled at the back of her head. The hat was tilted slightly to the right, which gave it a bit of a cheeky look.

  Her bodice was tight-fitting, pulled in at the waist, then the material flared out for about a hand’s width over the top of the skirt. It showed how full her breasts were and how small a waist she had, that bodice did. Why, he could almost span her waist with his hands, he was sure. If he dared touch her, that was.

  There was a little frill of lace at the neck, white against her soft skin. He had an urge to touch both skin and lace.

  How could he be going to marry someone so pretty and ladylike?

  ‘Well, Fergus Deagan, has the cat got your tongue?’ Ma asked sharply.

  He jerked to attention, realising she was expecting him to compliment his bride. He tried to think what to say. ‘You, um, look lovely, Cara.’

  Pa came forward, beaming at them. ‘What a handsome pair you two make!’

  But Cara was looking at Fergus so anxiously, he guessed suddenly that she was even more nervous than he was and needed further reassurance. Only he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  She hesitated then went to pick up little Niamh.

  ‘Here.’ Ma held something out to Fergus.

  He took it. A wedding ring, a plain band of gold, very narrow. He looked at her in consternation. He should have thought of that.

  ‘It was my mother’s,’ she whispered. ‘It was the last thing I had to sell when we came to England, but we managed to keep it. Patrick knew how much it meant to me. You’d bought a ring for Eileen before I could tell you about this one, so I kept it. I’ve checked and it fits Cara as if it was made for her.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’

  She smiled and turned to Cara. ‘I’ll carry the baby today.’

  Before she took the infant, Ma gave him a poke to make him move forward. ‘Go on! Offer your arm to your bride.’

  So he did, and felt Cara’s hand position itself on his arm as lightly as a little bird. On a sudden impulse, he put his free hand over hers, wanting to touch her. The hand quivered but she didn’t pull it away.

  ‘Well, let’s get going now,’ Ma prompted.

  As the two of them led the family out into the street, Fergus whispered to Cara, ‘Are you sure about this? We’re not pushing you into something you don’t want?’

  He watched her studying his face carefully. She was taller than Eileen, and moved more steadily, taking bigger steps, so it was easy for them to walk together, surprisingly pleasant, too.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure, Fergus. I have no one else who cares about me like your family does. I’m honoured to join it. It’s you who’ve been pushed into this.’

  ‘I don’t mind. It’ll make things easier for all of us.’

  She looked disappointed, then her face went expressionless, but he’d seen that he’d upset her and cursed himself for sounding so offhand.

  ‘I’m no good at compliments and words,’ he blurted out in an attempt to mend things. ‘But you do look pretty today and – and I think we’ll be all right together.’

  She gave him a sad half-smile at that. ‘I don’t want meaningless words, only the truth about everything. I’ll do my best to be a good wife.’

  He nodded, able to respond to this statement of simple fact. ‘I’ll work hard for you and I’ll do my best to be a good husband.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I may not be good at compliments, but I definitely won’t lie to you, Cara, because I’m not good at that, either.’

  She nodded, one quick, firm nod, but that nod made him feel better, it seemed to say he’d been accepted by her, for all their differences.

  Then he realised they were standing at the church entrance in a cold wind, staring at one another while Ma and Pa waited patiently behind them with the boys. He hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped walking, had been so intent on reassuring Cara. He led the way inside, realising that she was now holding more tightly to his arm, as if nervous.

  No wonder. From the front of the church, the priest was scowling at them. Fergus drew himself up and scowled right back.

  Everyone knew that Father Benedict didn’t approve of Catholics marrying non-Catholics, or of special licences. It was Ma who’d persuaded him to marry them, and he’d only agreed because she’d promised to see that any children were brought up Catholic. She’d told Fergus the priest had admitted grudgingly that he supposed it was better for the young couple to marry than to live in sin.

  Young people! Fergus was coming up to thirty-two, ten years older than his bride. He didn’t feel young, he felt old and weary.

  As for sin! Father Benedict was always going on about how sinful people always reaped the punishments they deserved. What sin had poor Eileen committed that she deserved to die so young, or poor Cara either, that a man could attack her and she be blamed for it?

  He waited as the priest cleared his throat and began the ceremony abruptly. It passed in a blur as Fergus repeated words which didn’t lodge in his brain.

  It seemed to him afterwards that the real vows had been the promises he and Cara had made to one another at the church door.

  And he really would try hard to be a good husband.

  But he didn’t feel like a husband in some ways. He hadn’t felt the need for a woman since Eileen died and he didn’t want Cara in that way, either. He still felt sometimes that he’d killed his wife, even though she’d been the one to push for another child.

  He didn’t want to kill another woman and Cara was only twenty-two, wasn’t she? Very young, except she sometimes had a sad, older look to her when she was lost in thought.

  Once they’d signed the register, Fergus took the marriage papers and folded them neatly, putting them in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he offered his bride his arm.

  ‘Welcome to the family, Mrs Deagan,’ he said as they began to walk home.

  That made her smile, a genuine look of pleasure this time. He liked making her smile.

  He liked how she looked, too. He hadn’t expected that.

  When they got home, Cara was surprised to see a cake sitting on the table and two big bottles of ginger beer, the sort made and sold to her neighbours by the widow in the corner house. Mrs Piper also took in lodgers employed at the railway works and had a dozen other small ways of turning a penny. She’d bought a few of their household items, and Ma had given her some of the stuff that wasn’t really saleable.

  ‘She’s a battler, that one,’ Ma had said. ‘A good woman.’

  Cara had been watching how Mrs Piper managed, wondering how to get a start at earning a living once Niamh didn’t need her. Now she wouldn’t need to worry about that. She was a married woman. It was for her husband to be the breadwinner.

  Unless anything happened to him. No, he was young still and healthy. Well, fairly young. Ten years older than her.

  The two boys ran over to stare at the cake and exclaim at how delicious it looked.

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ Ma called, smiling at everyone’s surprise and delight. ‘I got Mrs Piper to collect the cake for me and she sold me the ginger beer. A wedding should be celebrated properly.’

  The two boys, who’d been unusually quiet during the walks to and from church, went to stand beside their grandfather. But their eyes kept going to the cake, which was a large, expensive one, the sort that sat proudly in the cake-shop window, to be bought for special occasions by families with money to spare.

  The family had never bought one before, but all the children in the neighbourhood had pressed their noses to the shop window and speculated about w
hat such a cake might taste like.

  Cara looked across the room and hid a smile as she saw Mal lick his lips.

  She lost the desire to smile when Sean shot her a resentful glance and pulled his little brother further away from the cake.

  Fergus muttered something and went across to speak quietly to his older son, who then switched his scowl to the floor between his feet.

  The baby began to cry, a few soft wails which grew louder by the minute.

  Mr Grady said gently, ‘From the sound of that young lady, she’s hungry again. You sit down and feed her, Cara. I won’t let these rascals eat all the cake.’

  ‘I’d better take off this dress first.’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ Alana said. ‘You look so pretty in it. Besides, it buttons down the front so you’ll manage.’

  Their frankness about the details of everyday life sometimes made Cara blush, but she was more used to her role now, so picked up the shawl and let Ma help her arrange it to cover herself modestly. While they were doing this, the men and boys looked everywhere but at Cara.

  The baby was interested only in the milk and was now big enough to make loud sucking noises and knead Cara’s breast with her soft little hands, which made feeding her even more of a public event.

  But she was such a little darling, Cara would have done anything for her. She still felt dreadfully sad at times about the loss of her own baby, but Niamh filled a gap in her heart, a need to love as well as a need to have a child to love her.

  7

  Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door and Fergus went to open it, coming back with a small buff envelope. ‘It’s a telegram.’ He stared at it, looking shocked. ‘I’ve never received one before. They usually bring bad news, don’t they?’

  ‘We shan’t know till you open it up,’ Ma said briskly. ‘If it’s bad news, best get it over with at once.’ She handed him a kitchen knife.

  He slit the envelope carefully and pulled out the telegram, his expression brightening as soon as he’d scanned the few words it contained. ‘It’s from Mr Kieran. We have to meet them in a couple of days. And he wants us to send him a telegram to let him know that we can get there in time to catch this ship.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ Ma said. ‘We’ve sold or promised most of our things now. We might as well get our journey started.’

  Fergus hesitated, then turned to his new wife. ‘Do you know how to send telegrams, Cara?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Could you come with me to the post office, please? I need to send the reply and don’t want to look a fool in front of everyone.’

  ‘I’d be happy to go with you.’ She’d enjoyed the walks to and from church, because she’d felt so penned in during the past few weeks. She and her sister had gone for strolls most fine days, but it was going for a walk on her own that had led to it happening.

  She’d finished feeding Niamh, so she let Ma take the baby and stand between her and the others as she buttoned her bodice and rearranged the shawl round her shoulders.

  ‘I’ll see to the baby, Cara love. You get yourself a nice piece of your wedding cake and a drink of ginger beer before those two lads grab it all, then you and your husband go out and send that telegram. Afterwards, you could have a nice walk to celebrate this special day. The sun’s shining, even though it’s cold.’

  Her husband. Cara still wasn’t used to the idea or the words. She felt shy to be going out on her own with Fergus. They might be married now, but Fergus was still a stranger in so many ways that she felt uncertain how to behave with him. Things had changed, but they were both still feeling their way because there were no rules to guide them when it wasn’t a love match.

  As they left the house, he said in the abrupt way she was growing used to, ‘I’m glad to get you on your own, Cara. We can’t talk privately in the house and we have things to decide, personal things.’

  She looked at him apprehensively.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m not regretting what we’ve done, not at all. I just want to decide how to make the best of it from here onwards. I want us to have a happy life together, if we can.’

  She felt herself relaxing. He might not speak a lot, or be tactful when he did, but she was beginning to trust that he meant what he did say to her. ‘I’d like to make the best of things, too.’

  He offered her his arm. ‘Good. Let’s send the telegram, then enjoy a walk. If we can’t have a bit of time off on our wedding day, when can we?’

  She took his arm and again found how nicely their steps matched. He was taller than she was, but not by much, and she never had been able to take mincing little steps, for all her mother said it was more ladylike. Her mother had blamed all sorts of things for Cara’s inability to attract offers from the young gentlemen of their acquaintance, including the fact that she was too tall. As if she could help that!

  Neither of her parents had known that she’d deliberately discouraged the young men who came courting, making remarks which upset them, because she hadn’t wanted to spend her whole life with any of them. Some resembled her father, and were bullies; some were weak and she knew that either her father or their own would dominate their weaker natures.

  Cara waited for Fergus to speak, but like her, he seemed content simply to stroll along the street at first.

  ‘Life’s been very hectic for the past few months,’ he said eventually. ‘For us both, I think. Are you all right now, feeling well in yourself, I mean?’

  ‘I’m fine. Fergus, I’ve been wanting to thank you for marrying me. I didn’t know what I would do after Niamh stopped needing me. I’m not used to fending for myself.’

  He smiled. ‘And I’m not used to caring for a house and family. We can help one another. Which is what I reckon a marriage is for.’

  She quoted verses from Ecclesiastes, which she’d once had to learn by heart and had liked: ‘“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.”’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ he said. ‘I like that idea.’

  They sent the telegram, then continued their walk.

  After a while, his steps slowed. ‘Look, we’ll have to share a bedroom once we leave Swindon, but I wanted to reassure you that I won’t force myself on you till you’re … um, ready. As we agreed.’

  She could feel herself flushing and couldn’t help shuddering at the memories his words brought back.

  Fergus’s voice was gentle. ‘Did he hurt you, that man?’

  She nodded, feeling sick, as she did every time she remembered what her father’s friend had done to her.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘I don’t even like to say it.’

  ‘All right. I don’t suppose it matters now, though I’d like to thump him good and hard for doing that to you. But you need to be certain that I won’t hurt you. Loving one another can be … good, when it’s done with kindness. I’ll show you one day.’

  She couldn’t hide the shiver that brought, though she knew she’d have to let him use her body eventually.

  He patted her hand as it lay on his arm. ‘It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

  She found his touch comforting, which was strange because ever since it had happened, she hadn’t liked people, especially men, to touch her. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Then we won’t for the time being. Let’s just enjoy the sunshine and a moment or two of peace before we all set off on our long journey.’

  When he next spoke, it was in a completely different tone, boyish, excited. ‘It’ll be a grand adventure, won’t it? I’ve been looking at a map. We’ll see a lot of other countries on the way to Australia, even go through the Suez Canal. I never thought to do anything like that. I’ve always envied my brother Bram, and he’s still ahead of me now that he’s got himself rich.’

  ‘Well then, you’ll have t
o get yourself rich too.’

  He stopped walking to look at her in surprise. ‘Me? Get rich?’

  ‘Why not? You can’t be that different from your brother. You’re not a stupid man.’

  ‘I can’t see it happening. I’ve always brought home enough to feed and clothe my family, mind, but get rich? Not me. Besides, he has a lady-wife to help him.’

  ‘So do you, now.’

  That similarity to his brother shocked him, she could see. But she hoped he was starting to get to know her, to see her as more than just a woman who cared for his baby daughter and would run his house one day.

  ‘Do you think that will help me get on?’ he asked, his words coming out slowly as if he was still trying to get his head round the idea.

  ‘It may do. It won’t hurt to try, will it?’

  ‘I suppose not. Will you help me?’ He frowned. ‘I’d need to learn so much.’

  She was surprised in her turn that he would be so frank. ‘I’ll help you in every way I can. I’d be happy to.’ She tugged his arm and he started walking again. ‘It doesn’t hurt to dream, Fergus. We don’t need to tell anyone else about it.’

  ‘You’re right. And we will keep it to ourselves, if you don’t mind, but we’ll watch out for any opportunities that crop up.’

  He was thoughtful after that, not saying much, but once or twice he looked at her, really looked. That made her wish she had more of her former clothes, so that she could look good for him all the time. She could feel her cheeks grow hot at that thought.

  Did he care about how she looked? Did he find her pretty?

  Most important of all, did she dare hope for more than convenience from this sudden marriage? It wasn’t money she wanted most, or even security, but affection.

  Her own words came back to her.

  It doesn’t hurt to dream.

  When they got back an hour later, Cara felt much better for the walk. She’d found that she didn’t mind Fergus touching her, patting her hand as it lay on his arm, or once grabbing hold of her hand to pull her out of the way of two lads, who’d built a little cart and weren’t looking where they were going as they rolled down a slope.