A Man of Honour, page 11
Blackie merely nodded.
From time to time, Eileen and Patrick exchanged glances. They didn’t say a word to each other, but their eyes shone with shared pleasure.
They knew how much Finn was enjoying the large, round Yorkshire pudding, now oozing gravy. And Blackie too was engrossed with his food, as he always was.
When they had all finished the first course, Eileen asked Patrick to bring the plates, and for Blackie to refill their tumblers with cold water.
‘What else can we do, Aunt Eileen?’ Blackie asked. ‘Can we help some more?’
‘Your uncle is going to carve the leg of lamb, and I will serve the vegetables. Once the plates are ready, you can come and carry them to the table. Finn will help you.’
‘Sure and we will,’ Blackie responded, and glanced at Finn. Leaning closer, he whispered, ‘Where did ye get all the information about Gwen? From Alf?’
‘Yes, and also from Sarah. I bumped into her on Town Street. She’d been to Christ Church, to the morning service. The neighbours had been talking to each other before and after the service.’
‘Was she with her sister?’
‘No, she was alone,’ Finn answered. ‘I didn’t even know about a sister. How did ye know there was one?’
‘I walked Sarah home last night, remember, and it was the sister who let us in. She was a beauty, believe me, a knockout …’
‘Are ye interested, eh?’ Finn probed, laughter in his eyes.
‘No, I am not, believe me … she’s a widow lady,’ Blackie replied quickly, thinking, and a gorgeous widow.
‘Oh, perhaps that’s why I never set eyes on her. Did ye see her before last night?’ Finn continued to press.
‘Never. I understand she’s a bit of a recluse. Quite refined, like, and …’
Blackie stopped abruptly as his uncle appeared and beckoned. ‘Come and get the plates, lads, and I’ll bring the other two.’
Once they were all settled at the table, Finn looked at his plate, his eyes wide with joy. He hesitated, wondering what to eat first. The slice of lamb with a spoonful of mint sauce or a roasted potato saturated with rich gravy. A moment later he picked up a fork and started with the roasted potato, then cut into the meat, after that a carrot. They were all melting in his mouth. What a special meal, he thought, as he relished the food. I’ve never eaten a Sunday dinner like this. I hope I get invited again. He knew he must be on his best behaviour today. He ate slowly, savouring every bite.
When they had apple crumble with warm custard sauce, Blackie was in seventh heaven; it was his favourite. But he was well aware that today Aunt Eileen had made it for Finn. He wasn’t jealous, he was simply glad his friend was able to enjoy this lovely treat his aunt had prepared.
He suddenly realized, yet again, what thoughtful people they were, knowing they brought kindness and compassion to him, and his friends. Patrick and Eileen Kennedy were truly unique and loving people, who always showed generosity to their family.
NINETEEN
Blackie began to feel nervous as he walked up the hill towards the Traveller’s Rest pub a few days later, and this unexpected emotion took him by surprise.
He had always been self-confident, sure of himself, but now he was a little rattled. It was because he was going to see Angela and, at the sudden thought of her, his step faltered, and he leaned against the fence of a house.
An image of her was embedded in his brain and had remained there from the first moment he had set eyes on her. She was a beauty, the kind of woman he had not met before, and he had fallen for her.
This aside, he was a novice when it came to the opposite sex. He had never had a relationship, not even a platonic friendship with a girl. Much less, as in this instance, a woman. An experienced woman, he had no doubt, and a widow. She was elegant, refined and educated.
Stop dithering, he told himself, get a hold of your feelings, and hurry up. He realized he didn’t want to arrive late. Pulling himself up to his full height, he now strode on. As he walked at a quick pace, he reminded himself that Angela had issued the invitation. The fact that she was older than he was didn’t matter. He was indifferent to age; it played no role in his life.
Within five minutes, he had arrived at the moor, where children played after school, as he himself had once. Glancing across the road, he saw that the pub looked busy, with several men sitting outside with their pints, chatting and smoking.
Walking a few steps forward, he was now at the small, neat house with a dark green door and matching shutters. Angela’s house. Pushing open the gate, he walked down the garden path, lifted the brass door knocker and so announced his arrival.
A moment later the door opened, and he was greeted by a smiling Sarah. He forced a smile, but disappointment slid through him. Blackie had believed he and Angela would be alone, but obviously not. Sarah was probably there as a chaperone, to protect Angela’s reputation. Even though she was a widow, and would have more freedom than an unmarried girl, she would still need to be respectable. This thought brought a little burst of laughter, as he stepped inside the entrance hall.
‘Why are you amused?’ Sarah asked, peering at him.
‘I’m not,’ he announced swiftly, pushing the laughter down. ‘I’m just … glad to see ye.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Sarah shot back, a smile on her face. ‘You thought you’d be having supper alone with my sister, and you are. I just came to bring her a few things. I’ll be off soon. So, come on, she’s out in the back garden.’
Blackie was thrilled to know he would have Angela to himself, and his anticipation about a pleasant evening was high. As they walked down a corridor to the back door, he glimpsed a room through an open door, with elegant furnishings arranged with taste.
The garden took him by surprise. It was filled with flowers and flowering bushes and the last of the June roses, all surrounded by a high stone wall. Two willow trees brought shade to the lawn.
Angela stood up, as Sarah and Blackie came towards her. There was a wide smile on her face and, when he stopped in front of her, she stretched out her hand to shake his, staring up into his face.
Blackie took it, held it tightly in his own, gazing down at her, savouring the moment. Her blue eyes were sparkling and there was a faint blush on her neck and cheeks. He knew she felt as he did.
She broke the intensity, the silence between them. ‘Welcome to my house, Blackie. Come, sit down, and Sarah will help me serve lemonade.’
‘Thank ye,’ he managed to say, once again overwhelmed by her beauty and her simple but elegant dress. It was a pale lilac colour that accentuated her eyes, cut with a low, scooped-out bodice and loose sleeves, with the slimmer silhouette that was becoming popular. Her skin was pale ivory and he wanted to touch her, love her. He stepped away and hovered near a chair, his heart thudding.
Soon the three of them were sitting together, enjoying the last of the afternoon sun. Sarah was talking.
‘So Alf has kept me informed, Blackie. I was just telling Angela, before you arrived, that Gwen has still not come home. Nor has she been found.’
Blackie nodded. ‘I had heard that too. ’Tis a true mystery, I be thinking. Apparently the local police have scoured Upper Armley, have gone through Gotts Park and Armley Park, and every lane nearby. No trace of her.’
‘This must be quite awful for her mother,’ Angela murmured. ‘Poor woman, she must be frantic with worry.’
‘She is,’ Sarah said. ‘And so is Alf. He blames himself – well, sort of – because of that tiff they had the night before.’
Blackie said, ‘Alf had nothing to do with this situation. In my opinion, I think Gwen had a new chap and either went off with him or she was snatched by a stranger.’
His words startled both women, and Angela frowned and gave him a quick look. ‘Who would snatch her, for Heaven’s sake?’
‘An evil man with bad intentions,’ Blackie replied in a low, serious voice.
Angela looked aghast and shuddered.
Sarah said, ‘I can’t help thinking you are right.’ She shook her head. ‘I hope it’s a new chap, not a bad man out to do her harm.’
‘Oh goodness me, yes,’ Angela said. After a pause, she went on, ‘Let’s talk about something less harrowing, please. Is anyone going to the York races this summer?’
Sarah, who always seemed well-informed about what was happening in the streets where they lived, did most of the talking. She was laden with gossip.
Blackie did not mind; he only half listened anyway. He was preoccupied with thoughts of Angela. His feelings and emotions were very new to him, and myriad thoughts swept through his head. His attraction to her was somewhat overwhelming, and little threads of worry lingered. How should he behave? What should he do? Was she expecting him to make a move towards her, or would she take the lead? This situation troubled him no end. She was more sophisticated, experienced than he was, and even this house was more elegant than any he was used to.
Suddenly, he had the answer. She must make the first move, not him. His uncle had already warned him never to force himself on a woman. He realized it would be out of place if he took hold of her, kissed her as he longed to do. Whilst he believed she felt the same way about him, he could not chance it. Sit back and wait, he told himself. This decision helped him to relax. He had long believed that things happened when they were supposed to happen, and not by chance. Meeting Angela was meant to be. Now. Not next week or the week after. This was their time to come together. Or not.
He took a sip of the lemonade and settled back in the chair. It was a lovely time of day now, his favourite time. The sun was settling down, sliding over the horizon, and shortly twilight would descend.
A faint breeze rustled through the trees, and unexpectedly a flock of birds flew up into the deep blue sky, forming an elegant V, as they usually did. He heard a scurrying noise and glanced around. To his surprise, he saw a squirrel running up into a tree. A slight smile crossed his face, and then he sat up straight as Sarah addressed him directly.
‘I must get off, Blackie,’ she said, standing up. ‘I have to go and make tea for Mam, her chest’s still bad.’
He rose, and replied, ‘I hope she’s feeling better.’
Angela also got up and went over to her sister, taking hold of her arm. ‘I’ll walk you to the door. I have a few things for Mam, which I know she’ll enjoy.’ Looking at Blackie, Angela added, ‘I’ll be back in a few seconds. Excuse me.’
He nodded and returned to the chair, wondering when they would have supper, as she had called it, and also when she had made it. He had seen no sign of a housekeeper.
Within a few minutes Angela came back, hurrying down the terrace, and he stood up. She stopped directly in front of him, squeezed his arm in an affectionate way and sat down in the chair next to his. ‘Sarah’s such a chatterbox, isn’t she?’ Angela laughed and went on, ‘But I’ve always found her entertaining.’
‘Yes, she is, and how she does collect gossip! On the other hand, there’s nothing malicious about what she says.’
‘Very true.’ Angela leaned forward, drew closer to him. ‘Why do you think something bad might have happened to Gwen?’
‘Because of the way she just disappeared. If she had met some new chap, a local boy, she would have told Alf. Or better still, her mother. That’s what I be thinking, Angela.’
‘I suppose I agree, and I don’t think she would have stayed out all night with a new boyfriend, especially a local chap. Too much gossip.’
‘The world is a dangerous place, at least that’s what Uncle Pat is always telling me,’ Blackie said in a low voice. ‘Just recently I read a story in the newspaper about a girl in Harehills just disappearing. Never seen again, and a body was never found. The police were baffled.’
‘Oh my God! How awful!’ Angela shook her head. ‘My Aunt Clarice always warned me about the dangers outside the front door. That was the way she put it when I was living with her in Harrogate.’
‘Harrogate! Ye lived there? When was that?’
‘Some years ago now. Her husband died when they were quite young. Uncle Oscar was about thirty-nine, forty. My aunt was very lonely, and my mother sent me to live with her sister. The way she explained it was that I could be like a daughter to Aunt Clarice and keep her company, give her a purpose in life … that was bringing me up.’
‘And was your mother right?’
‘Yes, she was. Aunt Clarice loved me as if I were her child, and she taught me to be a seamstress like she was, making beautiful clothes for the real ladies of Harrogate.’
Blackie was startled and exclaimed, ‘You’re a seamstress? Even now?’
‘Not now, not really. I do make clothes, but only for Sarah and for myself. I don’t work at sewing any more. It’s hard work, exacting, and the ladies can be difficult at times.’
Blackie nodded. ‘I bet they can.’ After a moment’s pause, he went on. ‘So ye more or less lived in Harrogate all of your life … until ye came here?’
‘Yes, from the age of eight.’
‘Didn’t ye miss your mother and Sarah?’
‘Not really, because they came to stay with us a lot … especially for the special holidays, like Christmas and New Year, and in the summer months. My aunt has a house near The Stray, and she was always very welcoming.’
Blackie smiled as he explained to her, ‘I love Harrogate. It’s me favourite place in Yorkshire. And I swear on the heads of the Blessed Saints that I will build meself a house there one day. That be truly the aim in me life.’
Angela smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘A builder, eh? Well, that is surely a good trade, and one day perhaps we could go to Harrogate for a day’s outing. And we’ll go to Aunt Clarice’s house. I, too, love it there.’
‘Do ye really? ’Tis a wonderful town. I would like to take a trip there, sure and I would. Thank ye for inviting me.’
They spoke a little bit longer about Harrogate and its beautiful buildings. Then Angela changed the subject and said, ‘Here we are, chatting away, and it’s already growing late. And the air is becoming a bit chilly. Shall we go in and eat?’
‘Why of course, ’tis twilight.’
Jumping up, Blackie offered her his hand.
Angela took it and held onto it all the way along the terrace and into the house.
TWENTY
‘I’m going to pop to the kitchen to see what’s happening, Blackie. And if you want you can look at these rooms. I believe it’s a well-designed house. It might interest you.’
Angela smiled at him, dropped his hand, and waved at the open doors. ‘Go on, go and investigate. I won’t be long,’ she added. ‘Builders like to look at houses, I believe.’
‘Thank ye,’ he answered, and did as she said. Pushing open the nearest door, he found himself walking into a square study, almost like a small library. His face changed, instantly, filled with admiration, as his dark eyes swept over the pine-panelled walls and matching shelves, filled with books. The pale wood seemed to have a silvery gleam to it in the early evening light.
There were only a few pieces of furniture; a small antique desk under the window overlooking the garden, and a rose-coloured sofa and two small armchairs covered in the same rose fabric. All these were arranged in front of the fireplace.
Blackie tried to take in everything at once, the many books, the painting of a bowl of flowers on the wall above the fireplace, and the ornaments placed here and there among the books.
How well she had done the room, small though it was. If she had decorated it. Something told him she had. He strolled over to the shelves next to the fireplace, his eyes scanning the books. A lot of history. Biographies of kings.
With a huge smile, he took out the one called The Six Wives of Henry VIII. Well, he thought, I’ve never come across this one in the Armley Public Library. But I’ll seek it out, he thought, as he put it back on the shelf.
Turning, he went out into the long corridor which ran from the garden door to the front door of the house. He liked this corridor, and the squareness of the actual house.
He hated what he thought of as ‘bits and pieces’ – small additions, popping out at each end of a house. Blackie O’Neill’s ideal, his true favourite, was Georgian. That was the style he favoured and would build. One day he would own one himself, he was sure. And definitely in Harrogate.
Opposite the library was the drawing room and, like the room he had just left, it was light on furniture and clutter.
How he disliked the ornate style of Queen Victoria’s time, so prevalent still. Too much furniture, too many objects, and those ghastly plants in big brass pots – mostly palms squeezed in between small tables.
He walked slowly around, noting the sense of calmness. The walls were painted cream, as were the doors and the fireplace. Two small sofas were covered in cream brocade, and the rug on the floor was cream, patterned with small pink, green and blue flowers. The paleness, the austerity, the smoothness of the room created an atmosphere of tranquillity. He recognized that Angela had good taste and a flair for decorating. A style of her own that was unique.
‘Here you are!’ Angela exclaimed, coming into the drawing room. ‘So, Blackie, do you like my home?’
‘Absolutely,’ he answered, swinging around at the sound of her voice. ‘The library is a gem, and what a sense of calmness ye have created in here. I like your choices, how ye’ve been very careful not to fill up space with needless stuff.’
She nodded. ‘I hate a lot of stuff, as you call it; much prefer a sense of airiness, spaciousness. Well, I’m glad you approve. So, come along, supper is ready. Claudie is about to put the dishes on the sideboard in the dining room.’
Blackie asked, ‘Who is Claudie?’
Walking alongside him down the corridor, Angela explained, ‘She’s my helper, a devoted friend of many years. Her mother Clara was my aunt’s housekeeper in Harrogate, when I was growing up. They lived with us at the house near The Stray. When Clara died, we took Claudie on. She had no other family and nowhere to go, you see.’
