With Love From Ma Maguire (16 page)

He glanced to her right where sat his elder son, Charles. A good enough lad, that one. The only way in which he’d managed to match his younger brother for daftness was by marrying young, far too young in Richard’s opinion. If marriage was a life sentence, then good behaviour time should be taken first, before the door got locked and bolted. Still, Charles looked to have a fair head for business, seemed a sensible enough chap. Which was why Richard could not work out how the lad came to be stuck already with an ailing wife who couldn’t even get downstairs for the party, too frail to leave her bed just because she was carrying a child. The place opposite Charles was empty. Amelia’s place. Richard took a sip of wine and gazed thoughtfully at this unoccupied chair, almost praying that the girl would manage it somehow. Because if she didn’t deliver a live child, then the bulk would go to . . . oh God forbid!

Harold. Richard stared at him hard and long. Aye, the young beggar had managed all right, a son delivered as if by special order nine months after the wedding day. Dear darling Alice sat across from her young husband – and what a sight that was, all bangles and beads but not much brain. Every time she opened her mouth a load of caramel-coated gibberish popped out, ten tons of rubbish each day, fast and high-pitched like an overwound music box. Skirts were going to be shorter, even the better class of lady could wear a ‘smidgen’ of powder, hair would be bobbed soon and London had taken to wearing a narrow scarf around its collective head. Boring, she was. And Harold had chosen her, which said not a lot for him, did it? Mind, they did match. Because Harold wasn’t too much when you got right down to it, just a bundle of new clothes and two-tone shoes that were all the rage. All the same, sweet little Alice had produced a son, squawking Cyril as Richard called him on the sly. Even the baby was not likeable, had failed completely to stir any paternalism in the old man.

Richard inhaled deeply and glanced at the clock. Time this particular piece of nonsense was over and done with. ‘I’ve decided to give you a house, Harold,’ he said carefully, aware that the hornets would escape any minute now from their nest. ‘I know there’s plenty of space here, but you’re a family now, you and Alice and young Cyril. As you all know, Briars has always gone to the eldest son, so I’ve had Greenthorne done up.’

Alice’s dessert fork clattered into her dish. ‘But Daddy! We adore living here with you – don’t we, Harold?’

Richard gritted his teeth. Daddy! He’d be glad enough to see and hear the back of that one, sure enough. Aye, she liked living here all right, did young Alice. Servants, everything laid on, not a hand’s turn required of her. And she enjoyed waving young Cyril under Charles’ and Amelia’s noses just to show there was an heir in case the older son’s wife wasn’t up to producing one. ‘It’s all settled,’ he continued, his voice as carefully controlled as he could manage. ‘Charles and Amelia will stay on here. You can move to your new home on Friday week. The place is fully furnished and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting more staff.’

Harold jumped up, his face distorted by temper and disbelief. ‘I’d have thought you’d have wanted us to stay on, Father—’

‘Oh yes? And why should I want that?’

Harold seemed to shrink slightly, head dropping, cheeks reddening as he mumbled, ‘Well – Cyril’s the only grandchild, isn’t he?’ His voice tapered away, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Beatrice was the only one to remain unaffected, but no-one ever expected much reaction from her unless something major happened. Like the napkins arriving badly folded or a supposedly hot dish coming up cold from the kitchen.

Richard pushed back his chair and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Right, lad. You just listen to me for once. Charles will have a son – probably more than one. You’re like a pair of vultures sitting here waiting for Amelia to miscarry that child of hers. Well, I’ll watch it no longer. If you want to feed off your brother’s misfortune, I think we’d all be more at ease if you did it from a distance.’

‘Please, Father . . .’ Charles reached out a hand. ‘Don’t spoil the party, for goodness sake—’

Richard raised his head and laughed mirthlessly. ‘Party? Party, you say? More like a bloody wake if you ask me. Look at your mother – go on, look at her! She can’t wait for me to shuffle off so she can get to Blackpool and live with her sister. She hasn’t the guts to leave me in case she loses out at the finish.’ Beatrice did not even raise her eyes from the plate during this. Richard turned on his younger son now, the full force of his anger apparent in the volume of his voice. ‘You’re sponging off me no longer, lad! At least your brother works, doesn’t go mincing round town all day pretending to do business. After I die – and it won’t be long now – I want a sensible chap living in my house, not some jumped-up dandy with a wife as daft as himself!’

Alice fled from the room howling like a banshee, all ideas of etiquette suddenly abandoned.

‘Hadn’t you better follow her?’ Richard’s tone was quiet and sarcastic now. ‘Can’t you even look after your own? I want you out by next Friday. And if you don’t start bringing some orders in, there’ll be no wages for you either.’

Harold stalked out of the room, flinging his napkin in the general direction of the sideboard as he left.

Beatrice, who had maintained her customary detached silence throughout, simply carried on eating, a task which occupied a great deal of her time these days as she loved her food and could not eat quickly because of rheumatoid fingers.

Charles stood up and walked to his father’s side, gently pushing the old man down into the chair. ‘Calm yourself, there’s a good chap.’

‘I’m not a good chap. Ask your mother, see if you get an answer. If you do, it’ll be not far short of a miracle, since she’s hardly spoken two words to you since you were born—’

‘She’s not well—’

‘Not well? Not bloody well? She’s been ill a long time, then.’ He beckoned Charles to bend, then whispered in his ear, ‘She hates the sight of all of us, Charles. And I hate the sight of her, too.’

The younger man straightened, trying not to smile. Not that it was really funny having parents who so obviously despised one another, but it was ludicrous the way Father carried on talking about her as if she were deaf or elsewhere. And the fact that Mother seldom responded added to the grim humour of the situation. ‘You shouldn’t get so heated – remember what the doctor said?’

‘Heated? No wonder I’m heated with those two hanging about waiting to see if Amelia loses the baby. Greed, that’s all it is. They know damned well there’s sufficient to go round, yet they want it all for young Cyril.’ He banged his fist on the table, causing a shiver of crystal and silver. ‘No, it’s not for Cyril they want it – it’s for themselves.’

‘Don’t carry on like this! You’re doing nobody any good, especially yourself.’ Charles lowered his substantial frame into an adjacent carver. ‘You’ll be popping off before I’ve got the idea of running Swainbank’s properly. How will I manage without you? It’s no use making yourself really ill. And I’m sure Harold will improve in time . . .’

‘Will he now? I’ll lay odds they all said that about Judas, but he still sold out for a few coins, didn’t he? I’m telling you now, Charles, watch your back while Harold’s around. He’s taken after his mother, that one – stab you in the back as soon as he gets half a chance, he will. Mind, there’s neither of you had a decent upbringing. What sort of a start did you get from that one, eh? Yes, I’m talking about you, Beatrice! Just look at that youngest lad of yours—’

‘And yours,’ she replied calmly as she struggled with the dish of profiteroles. ‘I merely carried them. They’re Swainbanks through and through—’

‘Oh, get on with your pudding!’ He turned to Charles. ‘Fetch me a nice fat cigar, lad.’

‘You know what the doctor said—’

‘Bugger the doctor! It’s my birthday, so get me a smoke.’

While Charles found and prepared a Havana, Richard studied his wife as she carried on eating. It was a good job she could only eat slowly, otherwise she’d have been the size of a house by now. It was as if she’d invested her meagre supply of interest, imagination and energy in this one facet of her existence, because she lived solely for food. There was, in his opinion, neither rhyme nor reason to any of it. More than a quarter of a century fastened to that cold fish and what had he got to show for his penance? Just Charles. Thank God for Charles!

Beatrice struggled to stand, her supposedly regal posture considerably diminished by stiff limbs and a few drops of cream on her chin. Charles rushed to her side, but she pulled away from him. ‘If I ever require assistance, then I shall ask for it—’

‘Mother!’

But she dismissed him with a slight movement of her head.

The two men lingered over cigars and port, the door firmly closed against the rest of the household.

‘You think it’ll come, then?’ asked the older.

‘I do. The miners have been agitating for long enough, starving us of fuel, even closing some of us down at times. Since the war, they’re more worked up than ever – past reasoning with, in my opinion. Yes, I think the colliers will bring everybody out in time—’

‘Then they’ll all bloody starve!’ roared Richard. ‘Where’s the sense in that?’

‘Like I said before, there’s no reasoning with it. They know they’ll suffer, but they’d rather that than feed us, or so they say.’

Richard heaved his leg on to a footstool, flinching as it came to rest on the upholstered surface. ‘Unions? God, what do they know, eh? I’d like to see them keeping three mills open and a few hundred people housed. Words, that’s all they know, flaming words. And words put no meat in the pot, no bread on their tables. Do they think we don’t work ourselves? Do they think we’re as rich as we used to be?’

‘I don’t know what they think, Father. But that woman’s been stirring them up again.’

‘Ma Maguire?’

Charles nodded slowly. ‘Yes. She was on the steps again last week talking about the dignity of labour. For somebody who can’t read, she certainly manages to get her tongue round a few choice phrases. Honestly, you’d think we were murderers, the way she carries on. There were a few others with her, union chaps who read out figures – how many dead, how many mutilated. It read like a roll of honour for nearly an hour. Then there was a longish diatribe about conditions and facilities – they want canteens and first-aid posts.’

‘Oh yes? And beds for a lie down after dinner? And slippers for their feet, gloves to save their hands? That woman! That bloody woman—’

‘She’s looked after your leg—’

‘I’m aware of that.’ His tone was heavy with sarcasm. ‘And she’s stirred them all up, riddled about like a poker in hot ashes, got herself in places where she’s no right to be. She was at the back of that trouble up Daubhill when the pit owners brought in some willing labour, a few decent chaps who were prepared to go down and get the bloody coal. Oh yes, she was in the thick of that all right, turning a cart over and yelling at the . . . what do they call them?’

‘Knobsticks. That’s their word for strike breakers. But the unions are gaining in strength every day, Father. Soon, we shan’t be able to breathe without permission and we own the flaming factories! And it’s no good telling them to go and blame the bloody Kaiser, is it? They see an empty purse, a bare table, half a dozen starving kids – so they blame us! We’re just the first in the firing line, that’s all. But if it goes on, there’ll be nobody wanting to invest in a factory. Why should we set ourselves up as targets, eh? We’re probably a dying breed.’

Richard shifted his leg, wincing as he searched for a more comfortable position. ‘Aye. All I know is this. The steps of the Spinners’ Hall are wearing thin with clogs to-ing and fro-ing with complaints. If they lose their false teeth through a shuttle coming off, then they’re off down there with their heads wrapped in a scarf so we wouldn’t recognize them with or without the blinking teeth. All I ask is for them to be reasonable. I can’t be bothered employing a man to count every cut of cloth to see if Joe Soap’s been underpaid by tuppence! Anyway, I reckon their complaints books are so full by now, they’ll be able to start a lending library.’

Charles drained his glass. ‘It’ll all end in disaster—’

‘Never you mind disaster, lad! You’ll not shut my mills. Full or short time, they stay open no matter what.’ He groaned loudly. ‘This perishing leg will see me off, Charles. I feel as if there’s a poisoned dart stuck in it, can’t sleep, can’t walk. Mind, she did warn me years ago.’

‘Ma Maguire?’

The old man’s features suddenly softened. ‘I wish you could have seen her then. By, but she turned a few heads, did that one. She was about a foot taller than most, so she stood out in the crowd, made you stare at her. She walked into my office like the Queen of Sheba, hair wound round her head, eyes flashing, hands bunched up as if she wanted a go at me . . .’ He grinned widely. ‘By Christ, she didn’t half curse me. I’ve forgotten what it was all about now – some daft lad got himself stuck, I think. She damned me to hell and back three times over – I could hardly get a word in edgeways. “A curse on you and yours,” I think she said.’

‘And you let her get away with it?’

Richard burst out laughing. ‘Let her? You couldn’t stop her, lad. She was like a steam engine out of control – she’d have mown down anything in her path! But she was a beauty, a real beauty. And that wasn’t the end of it – oh no. After telling me I’d less than ten years to live, she spent the next few of them overcharging me for powders, kicking me out of her house, throwing me out of her shop – you’ve no idea, son. They broke the mould when they made her, believe me.’ He sighed, his head wagging slowly from side to side. ‘Pretoria changed her, made her worse. Or better, depending which faction you’re for, I suppose. But she’s been a freelance member of every flaming union ever since, shouting her mouth off under the Town Hall clock, encouraging them to stand up for what she calls their rights.’

The timepiece on the mantel sang a melodic chime as both men gazed into the fire, each lost in private thought.

‘I loved her,’ whispered Richard, almost to himself.