A Kiss and a Promise (28 page)

As the two approached him, he stepped forward. He had already removed his cap upon entering the building and now he turned it in his hands, suddenly feeling like a trespasser. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I wonder if you could help me?’

Both young women smiled at him but it was the taller of the two who spoke. ‘Certainly we’ll help you if we can. Are you searching for the head teacher’s office? I know the skylight over the infants’ cloakroom had been leaking again …’

Michael smiled deprecatingly. ‘No, no, it’s nothing like that, miss. I’m a seaman, just come ashore and wantin’ to see me daughter. I watched the kids comin’ out of school but I’m pretty sure she weren’t among them. Me daughter’s name’s Virginia Bennett and I’ve visited the house, only it seems they moved out a couple of months ago …’

The fair-haired woman interrupted him. ‘I knew Virginia Bennett well. She was in my class,’ she said, and Michael could not help noticing how icily cold her voice had become. ‘You’ll be Michael Gallagher, I take it?’ She turned to the smaller woman beside her. ‘You go off home, Sandy, and get the tea started; Mr Gallagher – I take it you are Mr Gallagher? – and I have some – some business to sort out.’

The dark-haired one left them, though she shot her friend an apprehensive glance as she did so. Michael said haltingly: ‘Yes – yes, I’m – I’m Michael Gallagher, so I am. Does me daughter talk of me, then? The truth is, miss, that I’ve not seen her for a long while, and – and …’

The fair young woman gave him a contemptuous glance, then turned away and retraced her steps along the corridor, moving so fast that Michael had to lengthen his own stride or be left behind. She flung open the door of a classroom and jerked her head at him, indicating that he should pass inside, ahead of her. Michael obeyed, feeling confused. He had done nothing wrong, had not been rude or impatient, had done his best to explain his errand to this snooty bitch, and she was treating him like – like a leper. She’s only a bleedin’ schoolmistress, he told himself savagely, staring across at her as she seated herself behind the teacher’s big desk. She’s treatin’ me like one of her perishin’ pupils – the bad one, the one in the corner wearing the dunce’s cap – an’ I won’t stand for it.

However, he realised that it would not do to comment; instead he began to explain again that he had searched for Ginny and her grandmother in Victoria Court without success. ‘No one was able to help; no one seemed to know where they’d gone,’ he said, speaking slowly and trying to eradicate as much of his brogue as he could. ‘Then I thought of the school and I thought she was such a good scholar that she’d come here every day, no matter what. Only – only when the kids came tumblin’ out I couldn’t see her, so I thought mebbe – mebbe her teacher might know her address.’

She had been looking down as he spoke, but now she lifted her eyes from their contemplation of her desktop and looked challengingly at him. ‘But how would you have recognised her, Mr Gallagher? After all, you’ve not set eyes on her since her mother died, so why this sudden desire to get in touch? You’ve been happy enough to ignore her for ten years.’

Michael felt a rich tide of heat sweep over his face, no doubt dyeing it crimson, he thought savagely. So this snooty English schoolma’am knew about his behaviour – perhaps it was the talk of the neighbourhood! But he did his best to answer calmly, with as much politeness as he could. After all, she must have the information he needed; he could not afford to antagonise her further.

‘I t’ought I’d know her by the colour of her hair; it was bright ginger when I last saw her and I didn’t think it would change that much,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re right, of course; I’ve not seen her for a – a longish while, but – but I’ve sent money regular, sometimes more ’n’ I could rightly afford, and I’ve written, oh, a heap of letters and only ever had one reply. But now I’m leavin’ the Merchant Navy and moving back to my daddy’s farm, and I t’ought …’

The young woman seated at the desk gave a little crow of triumph. ‘So
that’s
why you’ve come back!’ she said. ‘Of course, I should have guessed! Ginny’s ten years old now, old enough to be useful. You’re going back to your farm, so you need an extra pair of hands, and a child of ten who’s been brought up as she has is a capable, useful creature. I understand now why you are so anxious to find her.’

Michael’s fury was so great that he had to stop himself from simply turning round and marching out of the classroom. Instead, he adjured himself sternly to count to ten, a maxim which his mother was always preaching. Anyway, it was no use flying off the handle and leaving the place without the information he so badly wanted. The wretched woman had totally misjudged him, was happy to believe the worst of him, but explanations could come later. Right now, the important thing was to find out where his Ginny had gone. So he made no attempt at self-justification. Instead, he spoke with a calmness he was far from feeling. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name, miss, but I’ve told you mine. If you’re goin’ to abuse me, which I admit you’ve every right to do, I’d like to know your name, at least.’

For the first time there was some softening of her expression and he realised, with considerable surprise, that some men might even think her not bad-looking, though he was not one of them. He liked dark girls, gentle girls with sweet expressions, not sharp-tongued termagants who never let a feller get a word in edgeways, not even in their own defence. But she was speaking, answering; he had best be as nice as pie, else she would deliberately keep from him the information he needed.

‘Well, Mr Gallagher, I’m surprised you don’t know my name, since your daughter was my star pupil and, I like to think, very fond of me, as I was of her. You did say you’d received a number of letters? I got the impression that she did not know your address. Oh, and my name is Miss Derbyshire. Does that ring a bell?’

On firmer ground now, Michael shook his head. ‘No, but it wouldn’t. You misunderstood me, Miss Derbyshire. I telled you I’ve writ a grosh o’ letters, but I’ve only ever had one reply, and that was from the old … from Mrs Bennett. Ever since it arrived I’ve wondered whether her grandmother ever passed on any of me letters to Ginny. To own the truth, the old lady never did like me, didn’t think me good enough for her daughter, so it were always on the cards that she’d just chuck the letters in the fire, never hand ’em on to Ginny. That’s one o’ the reasons I’ve come searchin’ for me daughter now,’ he concluded, gazing earnestly at the pale, disapproving face before him. ‘So if you could tell me where they’re livin’ I’ll be on me way.’

‘I can tell you nothing, Mr Gallagher,’ Miss Derbyshire said crisply. ‘For I don’t have the foggiest notion. Virginia simply did not come back at the beginning of the winter term, but her grandmother – or likelier, I think, one of her uncles – had written to Miss Mackie, our headmistress, telling her that they were moving away, staying with a relative of some description, I believe she said.’

‘O-oh,’ Michael said. He told himself that she must know, she simply must, yet he did not think the teacher would stoop to telling lies, not deliberate lies, when it might be very much to Ginny’s advantage to see her father. ‘But – but she must be at school somewhere … couldn’t you find out, Miss Derbyshire?’

The young woman looked pensively at him. ‘I doubt that I could do so,’ she said, after thinking it through for a long moment. ‘But – forgive me – you must have known Virginia’s relatives fairly well. Wouldn’t it be quicker to find them? I know Virginia had at least one uncle in the neighbourhood, though I’ve a feeling he didn’t live round here. She mentioned an Uncle George … or was it Joseph? Did you never meet him?’

‘It was George, so it was,’ Michael said, his brow lightening. ‘D’you know where he lives?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ the teacher said briskly.

Michael gave her a cold look and turned towards the door. There was no longer any need to be polite to the woman; she knew as little as he. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Derbyshire.’

‘Wait a moment!’ Her voice, firm and commanding, brought his head round sharply. Had she thought of some clue, remembered a chance remark, perhaps?

‘Yes? Was there some pal who might know where they’ve gone?’

‘It isn’t that. You still haven’t told me, Mr Gallagher, just why you have decided to try to find Virginia after all these years. I think you owe me that much, at least.’

Michael was a patient man, and a fair one, but he simply did not see why he should tell this Miss Derbyshire anything at all. How had she helped him, for a start? She had said she didn’t know where Ginny was and couldn’t – or wouldn’t – help him to find out. She had accused him of wanting the child only now she was old enough to be useful, and had not said a word about his generosity in sending money for his daughter’s upkeep. It was high time, he felt, that he told high and mighty Miss Derbyshire a thing or two – and that would not include the strange events which had led him to think, for the first time in ten years, of his small daughter.

‘Well, Mr Gallagher? I’m waiting.’

Michael turned back towards her. He was not a man much given to cutting speeches, but right now he felt entitled at least to defend himself. ‘Then I’m afraid you will have to continue to wait,’ he said, his tone reasonable. ‘Because I’ve nothing more to say to you; I’m not one of your pupils, thank God.’ He turned to the door once more.

Behind him, he heard the crash as she jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over backwards. ‘How dare you!’ she gasped. ‘Why, if I were a man …’

Michael turned in the doorway. ‘If you were a man you’d be nursin’ a bloody nose be now,’ he said grimly. ‘Darin’ to suggest that I’d use me own daughter like a little slave. If all I’ve done is speak frankly to you, then you’ve got off light, I’m tellin’ you.’ And before she could say a word, he was out of the door and slamming it behind him with a bang that echoed through the empty building like a thunderclap.

Mabel stood behind her desk, her fists clenched, literally trembling with rage. So that was Ginny’s beloved father, who sent her money and had ignored her existence for ten long years! She had been all the more shocked to find the young man was Michael Gallagher because her first impression of him had been so favourable. He was tall and sturdily built, with a mop of thickly curling black hair and dark eyes which had seemed to look at her with gentleness and interest. He had a straight nose, very white teeth and a strongly cleft chin; in short, he was most girls’ idea of an extremely handsome man.

She had thought so herself, had been admiring him as he walked towards them and had been pleasantly surprised by his deep voice and soft Irish brogue. Then, of course, he had told her his name and her admiration had fled. She had sent Sandy off home and had accompanied him to her empty classroom, honestly meaning to tell him how his child was being neglected. She had not meant to flare up at him the way she had – not at first, anyway. But her temper had got the better of her, perhaps because he had shown interest neither in herself nor in Ginny. In fact, he had only wanted to know where he could find the child.

Sighing at her own hot temper, Mabel righted her chair and glanced around her classroom, finding her hands still unsteady. Quickly, she left the room and hurried along the corridor, half hoping, half fearing that she would catch him up. If she did so, she knew she should apologise for treating him like a recalcitrant pupil, for that was what she had done. Her indignation over his neglect of her favourite pupil had swamped common courtesy and she felt ashamed of the way she had behaved. But he had been rude, really rude, and she dreaded having to face him again, so was relieved when she crossed the playground and turned towards her lodgings and saw no tall figure ahead of her, no one waiting.

As she put her key into the lock, she told herself that she had behaved badly and decided, in fairness to Ginny, to do a little searching on her own account. If she could find Ginny, she would contact Michael Gallagher and …

With her foot already on the stairs, she stopped short, dismayed. She had been so eager to embarrass him, cut him down to size, that she had completely forgotten to ask for his address.

Michael set off for his lodgings, still fuming over the sheer impudence of the woman. She had attacked him without reason, apparently taking a dislike to him on sight, and she had been completely useless to him. He hoped he would never set eyes on her again and, indeed, probably would not do so, since he could not simply abandon the farm where his parents needed his help so badly. Today was Tuesday; he would remain in the city and continue his search all day tomorrow but would quit it on the first ferry to leave on Thursday.

Reaching his lodgings, Michael went straight to the landlady to inform her that he would stay for one more night.

The following day was spent in a completely fruitless search. That night, when he got back to his lodgings and went to his own room, he slumped on to his bed, feeling despair creep over him. No one at any of the schools he had visited that day had heard of Virginia Bennett; she seemed to have disappeared. He was bone weary, hating the city he had once loved so well and eager to return to Kerry. Yet despite his fatigue, he kept re-enacting in his own mind the scene between himself and Miss Derbyshire. Had he been less than fair to the woman? When he thought about it, she had heard only of his negligence, his apparent indifference to Ginny’s welfare, so, in a way, she had a right to her indignation. Shamingly, because she had seemed so antagonistic, he had deliberately tried to paint a brighter picture of himself and his actions by letting her assume that he had written regularly for many years, whereas, in fact, he had never written until the previous summer. And he supposed, grudgingly, that it was not so odd for Miss Derbyshire to leap to the conclusion that he had waited to contact Ginny until she reached an age when she could be useful.

Sighing, he lay down on his bed, linked his hands behind his head and gazed broodingly up at the stained ceiling. Perhaps he should have gone back to the school and apologised, explained how his eyes had been opened to the possibility that Ginny might not be a happy, well-loved child. But he found that the idea stuck in his craw. He still felt, hotly, that Miss Derbyshire had prejudged him and had been extremely unfair. Why, she had not listened when he had tried to explain …