A Kiss and a Promise (36 page)

‘I’ll pay her tram fare willingly,’ Michael said gruffly. ‘By the way, did Ginny have any money on her? I know she was saving up because she told me when she wrote.’

Aunt Amy shook her head sadly. ‘She didn’t have a penny; nor a jacket nor nothin’. She were wearin’ an old blue cotton dress and plimsolls, and though we checked, she hadn’t come back for her savings nor for a warm coat. Oh, Mr Gallagher, we’ve been that worried!’

‘I can imagine,’ Michael said, a trifle grimly. ‘But at least if she had no money she can’t have gone far. Well, if it’s all right by you, Mrs Bennett, an’ if your daughter don’t object, I think we’d best be going. The trail’s cold as it is; I don’t want it to get no colder.’

So, presently, the two of them set off and arrived at Victoria Court half an hour later. Michael began to make enquiries of the neighbours and was told that Ginny’s closest friend had been a lad called Danny, in the house opposite.

‘But he ain’t here at the moment,’ Danny’s mother told Michael. ‘He’s gone to scout camp but he’ll be back later in the day. An’ I can tell you where Miss Derbyshire lodges ’cos Danny’s mentioned it once or twice. It’s in Canning Street.’

Ivy was all for finding Annie Wait, saying she had been great friends with Ginny, but Michael thought that a child in trouble was not likely to run any risk of parental interference and since the only way to reach the Waits’ flat was through their grocery shop, he thought it unlikely that Ginny would have visited them. Besides, had she done so, Annie’s parents would have undoubtedly have told the scuffers when they were asking questions.

However, he left Ivy playing hopscotch with a number of other children in the court, asking her to come and fetch him at Miss Derbyshire’s lodgings as soon as Danny arrived home, and then set off for Canning Street and rang the bell on the front door of the large, dilapidated-looking house in which he had been told Miss Derbyshire lodged. He was in luck, in one sense at least. Miss Derbyshire answered the door herself. For a moment he did not recognise her, was about to ask her if the teacher was in, then he realised that she had bobbed her thick, ash blonde hair and darkened her brows and lashes. But he was too anxious to give much thought to her appearance, and immediately told her that he would like to have a word about his daughter. Miss Derbyshire gave him a long, penetrating look, and then said briskly: ‘You’d best come in. The last time I saw Ginny, she was full of how you and she were exchanging correspondence, so you clearly know her address. But a policeman called a couple of days ago, said she’d run away from home and asked if she’d visited me.’

She was preceding him up the rather steep stairs as she spoke and Michael followed hard on her heels. ‘They were after havin’ a terrible row in the Bennett household and Ginny got mixed up in it and lit out,’ he explained briefly. He did not think that the true reason for Ginny’s flight was any of Miss Derbyshire’s business. ‘Ginny were rare fond of you, Miss Derbyshire, so I thought she might’ve telled you where she were going.’

By now, they had reached a small, square landing and Miss Derbyshire ushered Michael into a neat bed-sitting room, with a vase of flowers on the window sill and a kettle steaming on a small gas ring. Once inside, she gestured him to a chair and then began to spoon tea from a japanned caddy into a brown teapot. ‘I was just about to have a cup of tea when I heard the bell ring. The house is almost empty at the moment since the other lodgers are teachers, too, and have either gone home or are on holiday, so I knew if I didn’t answer it, no one would. Sugar, Mr Gallagher?’

Michael accepted a cup with one spoonful of sugar, though he did so rather resentfully. She was the bossiest woman he’d ever met, so she was! He hadn’t wanted tea, had wanted simply to ask his question, but the unexpected offer of hospitality had made this impossible, and like most of the Irish, Michael seldom refused a cup of tea. Now, sipping it, he said bluntly: ‘Just where do you think young Ginny would have hidden herself, Miss Derbyshire? She knew I were comin’ to fetch her towards the middle of August and she were lookin’ forward to seeing Headland Farm an’ meetin’ her grandparents for the first time. I can’t think she’d go far from Schubert Street when she knew I’d arrive there in a couple o’ weeks.’

Miss Derbyshire stared at him and he thought he read derision in her glance. ‘And you, no doubt, think yourself an intelligent man, Mr Gallagher,’ she said softly. ‘If you meant to arrive in a couple of weeks, then Ginny would have no idea that your plans might change, because I take it you’ve given her no hint?’

‘No, I said nothing for fear of disappointing her,’ Michael said, defensively, after a moment’s thought. ‘Why should I?’

‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t guess that Ginny would run away,’ Miss Derbyshire admitted, somewhat grudgingly. ‘But don’t you
see
, man? She will imagine she has two whole weeks in which to cross Ireland and find your farm in Kerry. She’s run away to find
you
, of course! Isn’t that what any bright, brave child would do?’

‘I’m afraid you’re out there, Miss Derbyshire,’ Michael said triumphantly. ‘Didn’t her aunt tell me that Ginny went wit’out so much as a coat to her back or a penny in her pocket? Why, wit’ no money, she’d never get aboard the Irish ferry, let alone off t’other end. No, no, you’re out there.’ He would like to have added, ‘Miss Know-it-all’, but knew it would be impolite to do so whilst he was drinking her tea.

And as it turned out, it was fortunate that he held his tongue for before Miss Derbyshire could answer him the doorbell pealed again and she jumped to her feet. ‘Blow!’ she said crossly. ‘Yesterday, I was indoors all day, marking end of term examinations, and would have welcomed a visitor. Today, if the bell has rung once, it’s rung six times and my legs fairly ache with hurrying up and down those wretched stairs.’

Michael had half risen to his feet, meaning to answer the door for her, but she was out of the room and clattering down the stairs before he could do so and, it seemed to him, was back in the room in no time at all, pushing Ivy Bennett before her. Miss Derbyshire was smiling so broadly that it could have been called a grin and before the child could so much as open her mouth, the woman spoke. ‘I told you so, Mr Gallagher! Ivy says young Danny arrived home ten minutes ago and explained where Ginny had gone. It’s to Ireland, of course.’

Michael stared at her for an unbelieving moment, then transferred his gaze to Ivy. ‘Tell me what Danny said, me darlin’,’ he said gently. ‘Can you remember his exact words?’

‘Yes, easily,’ Ivy said. ‘He telled me Ginny had gone to Ireland to find her daddy because my mam and dad were cross with her. Danny said she had some savings which she kept in a secret place in Victoria Court and she took ’em and went off to catch the ferry. He axed her if she knew the way to the farm and she said it were by the seaside, so it couldn’t be far from Dublin. That’s all.’

‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Michael said slowly. ‘If I’d known about the money, o’ course, I might ha’ guessed. Well, at least I’ll know where to search, only – only Ireland’s a mortal big country when you’re searchin’ for a needle in a haystack, and if Ginny thinks Kerry is near Dublin … why, it’s the opposite side of the country, so it is! Oh, Lord, she’s only a kid, when all’s said and done. Her money will run out … she’ll get into bad company … I must go at once.’ He slammed down his mug of tea and headed for the stairs, propelling Ivy in front of him. ‘If I give you tram money, alanna, can you get yourself home?’ he asked his small companion. ‘I hadn’t even booked into a lodging house, and I’ve still got my grip with me, so I don’t need to go back to Seaforth. I can catch the next ferry right away.’

Ivy raised no demur at this but as Miss Derbyshire stood in the doorway, seeing them off, she said mockingly: ‘Don’t be in
too
much of a rush, Mr Gallagher. There’s something I’ll be bound you’ve not thought of, which might give you pause when you do think of it.’

Ivy was already heading for the nearest tram stop, plainly longing to be able to tell her family where Ginny had gone, but Michael turned reluctantly back towards the teacher. He did not like her but admitted, to himself, that she was a clever woman and might well have spotted a flaw in his plan. ‘Well?’ he asked, trying not to sound belligerent, but failing, ‘What is it this time?’

‘How are you going to recognise Ginny, if you do catch up with her before she reaches the farm?’ Miss Derbyshire asked sweetly. ‘Come to that, how do you expect her to recognise
you
? Just think, Mr Gallagher, a strange man walks up to a child of ten, in the streets of Dublin, and tries to tell her he’s her father. You wouldn’t do it, it would be far too liable to misinterpretation!’

She was laughing at him again and Michael longed to be able to tell her she was wrong, talking through her hat, hadn’t thought the problem through. But it was useless and he knew it. She was absolutely right; without some help, he was never going to find Ginny.

They left on the first ferry the following morning, Miss Derbyshire carrying a neat little suitcase and Michael with his grip. Looking across at his companion as they stood on the deck he was still amazed that things had come to this. Of course, her remark about his not recognising Ginny had completely floored him, but he had not admitted as much to her. He had muttered something about ‘making arrangements’, and had still been wondering how on earth to solve the problem when Miss Derbyshire had said: ‘Surely some member of the Bennett family will go with you? Perhaps young Ivy?’

He had swung round on her, irritation making him speak before he had really thought of the wisdom – or otherwise – of what he was about to say. ‘I can’t burden meself wit’ a child even younger than Ginny,’ he had said roughly, his brogue much in evidence. ‘Why don’t
you
come with me?’ ‘Tis the start of the summer holidays so you’ll not be teachin’ classes for a while yet. You know Ginny better’n most and you say you want her found, so why don’t
you
come along?’ He had not been serious, of course he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted was the company of someone who had criticised his every action and might turn Ginny against him when they did catch up with her, so he was struck almost dumb by her quick response.

‘Why not, indeed?’ she had said coolly. ‘At least I can stop you making a real fool of yourself, and if we find her quickly, then it needn’t take more than a day or two. As it happens, I’ve nothing planned, though I always spend a couple of weeks during the summer holidays with my parents, but that’s a movable feast; in other words they expect me when they see me.’ She had given a small, tight smile which seemed to him to hold very little humour. ‘Thank you for your kind invitation, Mr Gallagher, which I accept. I’ve never been to Ireland let alone Dublin, so it will be a pleasant change.’

Michael had goggled at her for a moment, then said uncertainly: ‘Are you sure, Miss Derbyshire? ’Tis a great sacrifice I’m askin’ of you, to give up your free time to go chasin’ round after me daughter. If – if you’d like to change your mind …’

Miss Derbyshire had laughed, but this time far more pleasantly, and then she had leaned over and patted his arm in an almost friendly fashion. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gallagher, I wasn’t being very kind,’ she had said, her eyes sparkling. Again it had struck Michael that she might, by some, be considered a very pretty girl, though for his part he liked a woman to be dark, dramatic, and thought the pallor of Miss Derbyshire’s hair and skin insipid. ‘I dare say you don’t realise it, but I’m just as worried about Ginny as you are and I’ve been fretting for two days, wondering what I should do and to whom I should confide my fears. Now you’ve offered me a role to play and I promise you I shall play it with all my heart. For a start, I’d better call you Michael, and you can call me Mabel. And I’m sure that, working together, we’ll find Ginny before she gets into any sort of trouble.’

So here they were, setting out for Ireland like two friends, whereas in fact they scarcely knew one another and would, Michael felt sure, find even a few hours in one another’s company a considerable strain. However, there was no doubt about Miss Derbyshire’s – Mabel’s – ability both to recognise Ginny and to talk sense into her, if such was necessary. And so far they had rubbed along quite well. Michael had insisted that he would pay all the expenses of the trip and Miss Derbyshire, after an initial hesitation, had agreed that this seemed fair. After all, he had asked for her help, even if he had not expected to get it, so the least he could do was to see that she was not out of pocket as a result of her kindness – if kindness it could be called.

‘Michael? I know it’s August, but I’ve begun to feel a trifle chilly. Would you … could we go below? I believe they are serving hot drinks in the saloon, and I think I should feel better with a warm drink inside me.’

Miss Derb— Mabel, he corrected himself hastily, had spoken quite pleasantly and so he accompanied her below and bought them each a cup of hot coffee and a large iced bun. His companion ate her bun rather quickly, drank her coffee and then remarked uneasily that she did not much care for the way the floor kept surging up and down and suggested that they should return to the deck. Michael, who had never felt ill aboard a ship in his life, was blind to these signs, but accompanied her back on to the deck and was unflatteringly astonished when she suddenly returned both coffee and bun, not even making the rail but throwing up within a couple of inches of his boots.

‘Hey!’ he said involuntarily. ‘Mind me boots, they’re the only ones I’ve brought.’

He had meant it as a joke but Mabel did not seem amused and cast him a malevolent glance before tottering over to the rail where she proceeded to lose her breakfast to the surging waves of the Irish Sea.

Michael was a kind young man and had heard about the agonies of seasickness from friends who did not have his strong stomach and presently, when Mabel’s agonies seemed to be abating, he put a strong arm round her waist and half led, half carried her to the nearest deck chair. He settled her into it, telling her comfortingly that now she was empty she would be all right, but his words proved unduly optimistic. For three hours, his companion retched and retched, refusing all offers of food and drink with a visible shudder, though Michael assured her that she would be a deal more comfortable if she had something inside her.