Mulligan's Yard (24 page)

‘Ida knows about my early life,’ he said, the emphasis on the ‘early’.

‘All I’m saying is that your childhood didn’t make you bad. You can’t go about making excuses for people just because their young years were a bit uncomfortable.’
Kate poured the tea.

Ida Hewitt remained silent for several minutes while James accepted a sandwich from his housekeeper, while he ate it, while the table was cleared. Then she spoke. ‘When you give up on life
like I did, when you ignore your family and neglect them, it’s a selfish way to carry on. I grieved something shocking when my lad died, but I weren’t the only one to suffer a loss.
Trust me to make a song and dance of it. So when Guardian Wilkinson came to my house, he made things a lot easier, bringing food and soap, bits of clothes, all kinds of stuff. In a way, he helped
me to . . . what’s the word? . . . to indulge meself.’

James placed a hand on Ida’s. ‘You must also forgive yourself,’ he begged.

She blinked rapidly. ‘I hope you’re wrong, but he is a bit peculiar, like.’

‘Mona told me about his childhood.’

‘He never had no childhood.’ Ida’s tone was sad.

‘So now he tries to steal the childhood of others. I think he may also be trying to become a man.’ James squeezed Ida’s fingers. ‘There’s a rumour that he’s
impotent.’

‘Aye.’ Embarrassed, she paused for a few seconds. ‘But . . . but we all thought that were a good thing, as if he’d dedicated all his energy to the Light, nowt to distract
him.’ She sighed, shook her head slowly. ‘Same as Catholic priests if you think on it. But there were a price, eh? See, folk same as Mona and Tilly, they give money and food. When it
comes to people like me and mine . . . well, they want our girls. But as for what happened down John Street tonight, I’m not sure you can lay that at his door.’

James decided to hang for the full sheep. ‘Ida, I went to the temple and I accused him face to face. Looking at him, listening to his terror, I knew I had the right man. Later, when I told
a police sergeant my opinion, I got a lecture about blackening the name of a man whose charitable works make him a legend in his own lifetime. But the police were not there earlier, in the temple.
They didn’t see the fear, the trembling.’

Kate blessed herself hurriedly before speaking to Ida. ‘If Mr Mulligan’s convinced of the man’s guilt, then he’s probably right. He’s a knack of knowing folk better
than they know themselves.’

Ida gripped the edge of the table. There’d been talk, but she’d not heard everything, as she had depended totally on visitors. ‘The cleansings,’ she whispered now.

‘Yes?’ James leaned closer to her.

‘The cleansings only work if they’re not talked about. Far as I can make out, most lasses just get their faces and feet washed. But our Diane said the odd one came out a bit shaky,
like. Usually quiet girls in borrowed frocks, girls from poor homes. Happen they got tret different. I mean, our Diane used to say she didn’t like him and wasn’t going in for cleansing.
Ooh, it makes you wonder.’ She stopped speaking, was plainly deep in thought.

‘Could we talk to some of those girls?’ asked James.

Ida pondered for another moment. ‘No. Even if something did go on, they’ll likely say nowt, because they’ll want to go off abroad for a better life. And they’d be too
embarrassed, most of them.’ She paused again. ‘No, no, it can’t be right. He wouldn’t do something as bad as that. Would he?’

Kate took a rosary from her pocket and twisted it about like a set of worry beads. There was something in James Mulligan’s eyes, in his voice, in the set of his jaw. She cast her mind back
through the years, remembering the hardships he had overcome, the sheer, dogged determination that had driven him onward until he had become the finest and best-educated of men. He had several
gifts, one of which was the ability to teach, another the talent to absorb and analyse information at the drop of a hat. He had most folk summed up within minutes. She shivered. Her nephew, the
person she loved most in the whole world, had come upon evil tonight.

‘I’m all right, Kate,’ he whispered.

There he was again, reading her mind, understanding her soul. ‘What will happen?’ she asked him.

‘Oh, he’ll strike again. The police will talk to him, but unless the girl remembers something, he’ll get away with it. As for my opinion, I obviously carry little weight with
the guardians of the law. I’m just another immigrant. No, worse than that – I’m the foreigner whose father was a vagabond.’

‘Won’t he get caught?’ asked Ida.

He lowered his chin, pondered for a moment. ‘In the end, he will. But how many young women will he target in the meantime?’

‘You might have scared him off,’ ventured Kate uncertainly.

‘His sickness is too deep for that.’ James drained the last dregs from his cup. ‘He will follow where his uncontrollable fantasies lead him. We’d need to be watching him
twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.’

Ida gulped. ‘What if he kills somebody?’ she asked.

‘I did all I could,’ replied James. ‘The police probably think I’m the cracked pot, not him. Ah, well.’ He stood up. ‘Away now, Ida. I’ll drive you and
the young ones home.’

When James and the Hewitts had left, Kate Kenny lit a candle and placed it in a blue dish at the feet of the Immaculate Conception. The statue, serene and beautiful, always calmed Kate. Mary had
been Kate’s strength when her husband had died, when her little boy had been stillborn just weeks later.

‘I’ve a terrible foreboding,’ she said aloud. ‘Mother of God, I beg you to watch over James. After all my brother did to him, he surely deserves some peace.’ Then
Kate Kenny knelt on the kitchen floor and said her rosary. Soon, it would be Christmas, the time of the greatest of all miracles. She placed herself where she had always sought to dwell, in the
hands of the Blessed Virgin.

Camilla Smythe had a homely face, and hair that looked as if it had been left to go rusty in the rain. She was her own woman, with her own style and a set of morals that would
have been a credit to any practising clergyman. As an unpretty female, she had long owned the knowledge that a queue of suitors was not likely to form, so she made the best of her life by running a
successful business and by staying loyal to her friends.

In Camilla’s book, family was another matter altogether. Had she been offered a choice, she would certainly not have picked a father who wandered towards retirement via the golf course, a
mother who preached one thing and did the opposite, and a brother who . . . who was beneath contempt.

She stared at her reflection, saw large, white teeth, a too-big nose, freckles and a new, angry spot on her chin. Rupert was so beautiful on the outside, an alley-cat within. She didn’t
know what to do about him; she did know that she would like to take the biggest whip from the stables and lash him to within an inch of his aimless, stupid life.

What to do? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. Tell Mother and watch while that not-so-good woman stopped Rupert from going off to London? Tell poor Amy? Father? Father was more
interested in his handicap and making ‘good contacts’ via the nineteenth over at Birkdale.

Rupert, daft boy, was planning to run away with Eliza Burton-Massey. Camilla, astute when it came to measuring people, was not fond of Eliza. The girl was odd. She seemed to alter whenever she
felt so inclined, one minute the dutiful daughter, the loving sister, the next moment a calculating monster ready to take off into her own future with never a backward glance at her sisters. Like a
chameleon, Eliza Burton-Massey changed her colours to accord with her background; now she was intending to change her environment, too. Well, let her.

Camilla dabbed eau-de-Cologne on her aching temples. She wished with all her heart that she had not overheard a certain conversation between two people who were not worth the worry. But she had
heard. At approximately four o’clock this afternoon, while Mother and Father were safely out of the way, Rupert had brought his latest lady-friend home. They had not entered the house; they
had sat in the stables discussing plans for Eliza’s escape from Caldwell Farm. Camilla, trapped in the stall belonging to her favourite mount, was now in possession of facts that would upset
several applecarts in the New Year.

‘Perhaps I am not such a good person after all,’ she told her reflection. A plan was forming almost of its own accord, and she was concerned about her attitude towards the subject of
Rupert and Eliza. The plan was simple: all she needed to do was . . . nothing. They deserved one another. Rupert, only too recently allied to Margot, was now about to run away with Margot’s
sister. Eliza, so precious, so treasured by Amy, was, in truth, a selfish and untrustworthy piece of work.

‘Eliza will go off anyway,’ she muttered. ‘She might just as well be with Rupert. Then she will know somebody in the city.’ As for Rupert, let him sink or swim – it
was time for him to make a go of things beyond the reach of his mother’s restraining embrace.

‘What about Amy, though?’ Amy had taken her mother’s death badly, then Camilla’s mother had waded in to separate her beloved boy from Margot. Even so, Eliza and Margot
were old enough to do as they pleased. In the long-term, Amy was going to suffer anyway. Why should Amy have the responsibility of Eliza and Margot? Of the three sisters, Amy was the most
practical, the nicest. There was no chance of her getting on with her own future while Eliza and Margot held her back. ‘Let them all go,’ Camilla said firmly. It was with Amy that
Camilla’s loyalty lay; she would be on hand to offer comfort to Amy when the time came. There, the decision was made.

Nevertheless, there was one thing she had to do. She brushed the hated hair, failing to be impressed by its sheen, washed an uncomely face without seeing the intelligence in her own eyes, the
generosity of the mouth. Burning with an anger that lit up her features, Camilla crossed the landing, knocked, waited for her brother to allow her to enter his sacred space.

He was lying face downward on the bed, bare feet dangling over the edge, hair ruffled, hands flicking the pages of a magazine on his pillow. ‘Ah, dear sister,’ he drawled.

Camilla sat in a bedside chair, wriggling until she achieved some comfort among the discarded shirts and trousers. ‘Do you never clean up after yourself?’ she asked.

‘What? And disappoint the servants? They’d have nothing to do if we all looked after ourselves.’

She studied him, took in the long, lean bones, the handsome face, the silk pyjamas. He was the very embodiment of the term ‘fop’, all polish on the outside, and inside, just a
shallow, muddy pool instead of a soul. ‘Will you have servants in London?’ she asked.

‘Not sure. I expect Mater will have fixed something.’

‘Just as she always does.’ Camilla’s tone was harsh.

He rolled over and sat on the edge of his bed. ‘Ooh, I say,’ he hooted. ‘Who rattled your cage, old thing?’

‘She even got the job for you.’

‘Jealous?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She wanted to hit him and hit him until the silly smile disappeared. ‘I could never be jealous of a person as mean-minded and facile as you are. But I want you to know
this. Eliza Burton-Massey is another just like you. She’ll get what she wants even if she has to leave a trail of corpses.’

‘W-what?’ he blustered.

‘You expect to share her bed, I take it? Is Amy on your list, too? After all, it should be fair shares. I don’t doubt that you took the youngest one’s virginity, so why not all
three?’

His jaw hung slackly.

‘Eliza will have her own way, Rupert. I very much doubt that your wishes will come under her consideration.’

At last, brain and mouth clicked into gear. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘The stables. Today. About fourish.’

‘You – you eavesdropped?’

She noticed his heightened colour and a vein throbbing in his temple. ‘Yes. By the way, your temper is showing.’ Used to getting his own way for most of the time, Rupert was not
enjoying this confrontation. Camilla smiled. ‘Bank clerks need to be servile, you know. Pull your horns in.’

‘I shan’t be a clerk for long.’

‘But Mother will not be there to push you onward and upward. You will be forced to fend for yourself for the first time in your life. How on earth will you manage?’

His lip curled. ‘She’s done a lot for you, too. I never heard you complaining when she set you up in your little cookery business.’

‘I know, and I’m grateful. But if Mother were to interfere in any relationship of mine, I would tell her that she is a two-faced mess. I mean, she preaches equality of the sexes,
pleads the cause of women, yet she could not allow you to associate with Margot Burton-Massey. Worse than that, you allowed Mother to separate you from a girl you supposedly loved.’

Rupert sniffed. ‘Margot was a mistake.’

Camilla laughed. ‘You’re the mistake.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘What?’ The clearly defined eyebrows shot upward.

‘Nothing,’ she repeated. ‘Except this. I tell you now that Eliza has a rather special kind of power. She will eat you for breakfast and spit out the bare bones. Really, I look
forward to news of your life in London, because it promises to be quite interesting. In fact, I shall visit you – perhaps at Easter?’

‘Don’t bother,’ he barked.

‘That’s a terrible thing to say to a sister who is concerned for your welfare.’ She paused for a few seconds. ‘You know, the greatest favour I could do for you would be
to tell Mother. She would certainly refuse to pay the rent on your
pied-à-terre
if she knew about Eliza. But I intend to do nothing for you, Rupert. Eliza is an extraordinarily
beautiful woman who will fare very well in London. She can sing, dance and play the piano extremely well. When her name is up in lights, she will surely be beyond the reach of a simple little bank
teller.’ She smiled, nodded thoughtfully. ‘You are in for a wonderful time.’

Rupert, all bravado on the outside, was secretly afraid of venturing into the big city. Eliza was a necessity – he could not possibly make the move on his own. Knowing his own weakness and
worrying that it might show in his face, he retrieved his magazine and flicked the pages.