Settling the Account (37 page)

He snatched hold of Malcolm’s ear, twisting
it till the boy grimaced in pain. ‘Now, tell your father and me
what you’ve been up to. This isn’t some bit of mischief I can sort
out with a good kick, boy. This is jailing business—it’d be a
hanging matter if the old fellow hadn’t pulled through, you know. I
want to know who else was with you.’

‘I didn’t,’ Malcolm said, his face screwed
up in anger as well as pain. ‘I never went near there. I
didn’t!’

Amy felt her own anger rising. ‘Mal wouldn’t
do something like that,’ she protested. ‘Why are you so sure it was
him, anyway? Why don’t you go and see those Feenan boys? I bet it
was one of them.’

Sergeant Riley gave her a patronising look,
loosing his hold on Malcolm’s ear slightly as he did so. ‘Of course
a mother always takes her child’s part, to be sure. But I can
assure you, Mrs Stewart, your son’s the sort of lad that trouble
seems to follow wherever he goes.’

‘That doesn’t mean he attacked Reverend
Simons,’ Amy shot back. ‘I don’t believe Mal did that at all. I
don’t think he knows anything about it. It was those Feenans, I’m
sure it was.’

‘And I’ll be going to their place next if I
get no satisfaction here,’ Sergeant Riley said. Amy detected a
trace of reluctance at the idea of entering the Feenan’s den. ‘I
wanted to see to the most likely culprit first.’

The most likely!
Amy was lost for
words at the notion that Malcolm was considered a more likely
perpetrator of such deeds than any of the Feenans. She looked from
Sergeant Riley, still holding Malcolm by the ear, to Charlie, where
she saw fury slowly mounting as he digested the policeman’s
revelation of how Malcolm had been spending so many of his
nights.

Vengeance was going to descend on Malcolm
from at least one direction, but she was determined to make sure
that it would not be an unjust vengeance. Malcolm was not guilty of
the attack on Reverend Simons; of that she was certain. Now, how
was she to convince Sergeant Riley?

Her mind racing, all her protective
instincts roused to the task, she grasped at an idea.

‘When did this happen?’ she asked. ‘When did
they break into Reverend Simon’s house?’

Sergeant Riley frowned. ‘Mrs Stewart, I know
it’s all a terrible hard shock to you as a mother, but you’re going
to have to accept that your boy’s a bad lot. Now, I’ll tell you
something that’s going to come out at the trial—the minister told
me last night about something that happened years back, that time
he had a pack of larrikins throw stones on his roof and suchlike.
He should have told me back then, and I’ve an idea he didn’t mean
to let it slip last night, only with him being poorly he forgot
himself.’ He gave Amy an appraising look. ‘I think the old fellow’s
got a soft spot for you, Ma’am.’

He paused a moment, as if for dramatic
effect. ‘He told me he caught sight of one boy in particular that
other time. A boy with red hair.’ He snatched a handful of
Malcolm’s hair and gave it a shake, jerking Malcolm’s head. ‘Not a
lot of boys with red hair in this town, are there, Mrs
Stewart?’

If he had hoped to shake Amy’s assurance, he
was doomed to disappointment. She had suspected Malcolm’s
involvement in the earlier incident for years; it did not make her
any the more willing to believe he had attacked a helpless old
man.

‘When did it happen, Sergeant Riley?’

He scowled at her persistence. ‘Tuesday
night, it was, if you’re going to make such a fuss over
knowing.’

‘Tuesday!’ Amy said triumphantly. ‘Then it
wasn’t Mal, it wasn’t! Charlie, it wasn’t Mal. Charlie!’ She had to
raise her voice to rouse him from his stupefaction. ‘Tuesday was
the night we had that bad storm, remember?’

‘A bit of bad weather doesn’t keep the
larrikins off the street, Mrs Stewart,’ Sergeant Riley put in, but
she ignored him.

‘We lost all those shingles, remember?’ she
hurried on. ‘And you woke up with the rain coming in on your face.
You and the boys had to get on the roof to fix it, and I was
holding one of the lanterns so you could see your way up the
ladder. You and the boys, Charlie! You had them both out there—you
were up and down the roof all night, on and off. Mal was here the
whole time, you know he was. Tell Sergeant Riley—please, Charlie,
tell him.’

Charlie shook himself slightly. ‘Aye, she’s
right. The boy was here. He wasn’t out of my sight for more than an
hour at a stretch that night.’

‘And you’d be willing to swear to that,
would you?’ Sergeant Riley asked.

‘Aye, I’d swear it,’ Charlie said heavily,
his voice sounding distant. ‘I’d swear it,’ he said again,
glowering at the policeman.

‘I thought you would.’ Sergeant Riley
released his hold on Malcolm’s hair with every sign of reluctance.
Malcolm took a few steps backwards, rubbing his scalp and looking
from his father to the policeman.

Sergeant Riley cleared his throat and drew
himself up to his full height, which brought his head almost to the
same level as Charlie’s. ‘Now, it seems your boy wasn’t in on this,
Stewart, but I’ll give you a word of advice.’

‘I don’t want your bloody advice,’ Charlie
muttered.

‘I’m giving it to you anyway. It’s men like
you that make my job harder, you know. Here’s this boy of yours
into every bit of mischief he can sniff out, and you not knowing
where he is of an evening. It’s a disgrace, Stewart, and I don’t
mind telling you so. Letting your boys run wild like that—no good
will come of it.’

Charlie’s mouth worked, but he could find no
words, not when he was so patently in the wrong. Amy watched his
fists clenching and unclenching in impotent fury. She knew that the
longer this went on, the worse it would be for Malcolm when the
policeman finally left the family alone.

Sergeant Riley watched Charlie’s reaction, a
satisfied smile slowly spreading over his face. ‘Now, I know you’re
feeling a fool over being caught out like this, Stewart, but it’s
better to find out where you’ve been going wrong now than later.
Another year or two letting your son run wild, and he’ll—’

‘Sergeant Riley,’ Amy cut in. ‘I think
you’ve said enough.’

‘Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but it’s your
husband I was talking to, not you. Now, as I was saying—’

‘My husband doesn’t want to hear any more.’
Charlie would not like her speaking out, she knew, but that was
less of a risk than allowing Sergeant Riley to work him up into an
even worse temper. ‘Hadn’t you better be getting off to the
Feenans’?’ she asked. ‘You wouldn’t want whoever really did hurt
Reverend Simons to go running off before you get the chance to
arrest him, would you?’

Sergeant Riley gave her a disapproving
glare, but Amy stood her ground and looked up into his scowling
face. It was Sergeant Riley who dropped his gaze first.

‘I can see you’ve got your hands full with
this lot, Stewart,’ the policeman said, letting his gaze rest on
Malcolm then on Amy before giving Charlie a pitying look. ‘I wish
you luck with them.’

He glared once more at Malcolm. ‘I’ll be
keeping an eye out for you, boy. It’ll be more than a clip over the
ear next time I see you up to no good.’

‘No need for that,’ Charlie said. ‘You won’t
be seeing him.’

Sergeant Riley gave a grunt. He nodded
distantly in Amy’s direction, then stalked over to where he had
tethered his horse. He was mounted and away before two minutes had
passed, leaving the family staring after him in silence.

The deceptive peace did not last long.
Charlie gave a shake of his head as though to clear his thoughts,
then took a step towards Malcolm.

‘Make a fool of me, will you, boy?’ he said
in a low growl. ‘Running wild at night with me thinking you’re in
your bed. You little bugger!’ He snatched hold of a handful of
cloth at Malcolm’s throat and shook him by it.

‘He didn’t hurt Reverend Simons,’ Amy said.
‘He didn’t do that! Charlie, don’t—’

Charlie turned on her. ‘I don’t care a damn
about the bloody minister! I don’t care if somebody slits the
fool’s throat. This little bugger,’ he gave another shake,
wrenching the handful of cloth upwards so that Malcolm had to stand
on tiptoe, ‘he’s made a fool of me! You’ll pay for that, boy.’

He released his hold, and Malcolm staggered
backwards. The boy said nothing in his own defence; there was
nothing he could say. He stared back at his father, waiting for
what was to come with something approaching resignation.

Charlie’s fist lashed out against the side
of Malcolm’s head, knocking him to the ground. Malcolm clambered to
his knees, but made no attempt to rise. Charlie loomed over him,
then caught sight of David, who stood transfixed with fear.

‘And what about you, eh?’ Charlie demanded,
catching hold of David’s arm and pulling the younger boy close.
‘Have you been sneaking off behind my back, too? Well?’

‘N-no,’ David said in a frightened squeak
that was barely audible.

‘No, he hasn’t,’ Malcolm said, his first
words for many minutes. ‘Dave never comes out with me. Says he
doesn’t want to. Leave him alone.’

Charlie released David, and swung his arm in
a heavy, back-handed slap across Malcolm’s mouth, jerking the boy’s
head to one side. Malcolm raised his hand to his mouth. When he
lowered it, Amy saw blood on his lip.

‘Keep your mouth shut, boy,’ Charlie
snarled. ‘You’ve shamed me, you know that? I’ve had to stand on my
own land and listen to that bloody Irishman tell me how to bring up
my own son! You’ve brought shame on the name of this family.’

And that was Malcolm’s crime in his father’s
eyes, Amy knew; not the misdeeds the policeman had spoken of, but
exposing his father to Sergeant Riley’s thinly veiled contempt.
‘Charlie, please—’ she tried.

‘Shut your mouth, bitch, or I’ll shut it for
you. This is your doing. It’s your bad blood coming out in the
boy.’

Amy’s stunned reaction seemed to give
Charlie some satisfaction. ‘Aye, it’s your ma’s bad blood coming
out in you,’ he said, turning on Malcolm again. ‘Teaching you to
bring shame on an honourable name. I’ll beat it out of you, boy.
I’ll beat it out of you if I have to kill you to do it.’

He took hold of Malcolm’s arm and
half-dragged the stumbling boy after him. Amy turned away from the
sight, but she could not drown out the screams that soon assailed
her ears; the sound of Charlie avenging his own bruised pride on
his son’s flesh.

*

Malcolm got a beating that left him
incapable of walking for a day, then unable to sit down without
grimacing in pain for almost a week. It had been inevitable that
Charlie would eventually find out about the boy’s delinquency;
perhaps, Amy hoped, it could all be forgotten now.

But she had reckoned without the strength of
Charlie’s outrage. The wound to his pride had gone deep, and left a
smouldering resentment that refused to cool. Charlie’s face was
habitually stern, but now it seemed constantly set in ominous
lines. Sometimes of an evening he might appear to forget his
grievance, particularly after the boys had gone to bed and he could
bury himself in a newspaper, but a visit to town, or to the dairy
factory, was almost guaranteed to bring him home flushed with
renewed anger and eager to take it out on someone.

The other men must be teasing him, she soon
realised. It seemed that Sergeant Riley had lost no time letting it
be known around Ruatane how laughably ignorant of his son’s doings
Charlie had been, and the men were taking full advantage of what
must have been the best joke they had heard in years. Over the
weeks that followed, Amy often wished she could have a few moments
alone with some of those men and tell them just how much trouble
their little jokes were causing.

‘I’ll show you who rules in this house,’
Charlie had thundered at his silent audience the morning after
Sergeant Riley’s revelations, and his first attempt to prove his
authority was to ban Amy and the boys from leaving the farm for any
reason. Churchgoing ceased; Charlie went to the store by himself;
and, worst of all in Amy’s eyes, she was forbidden to visit her
family.

But it was not as simple as Charlie had
thought to keep Amy in seclusion. When they noticed her absence,
her brothers simply came to see her more often. They both probed
her as to whether Charlie was ill-treating her, and John openly
checked her face for any telltale bruises despite Amy’s assurances
that Charlie had not touched her.

‘He’s grumpy about Mal, that’s all,’ she
told them. ‘I’ll come and visit again soon, but it’s no use me
asking him just now.’

Irritating as Charlie might find John’s and
Harry’s increasingly frequent visits, he could usually manage to
make himself scarce as soon as one or both of them appeared. But
after a week of Amy’s enforced isolation, another visitor began
paying calls that Charlie found much harder to ignore.

Lizzie had no intention of losing all
contact with Amy just because she was tied to the house by a tiny
baby. As soon as she realised that Amy did not seem to be coming to
see her any more, she despatched Frank to check up on her. After
that first visit, while Charlie’s interdiction lasted Frank duly
appeared twice a week to see that all was well.

He and Amy would sit in the kitchen perched
stiffly on their chairs, Amy careful to keep the table between
them, making awkward attempts at conversation while Charlie hovered
in a corner like a disapproving maiden aunt pressed into duty as
chaperone. It would have been difficult to say which of the three
of them found Frank’s visits the most unpleasant, but it was
Charlie who gave in first.

‘Time you went visiting Kelly’s wife,’ he
said after he had kept Amy confined to the house for close to a
month. ‘I’m fed up with that silly bugger hanging around here.’

Soon after that, Charlie began taking his
family to church again, as well as occasionally letting them come
with him to the store, though the boys were still banned from
leaving the farm except under their father’s supervision; even
going next door to visit their cousins was outlawed.