Mary Ann Shaughnessy - The Devil And Marianne Part 14

At this, Mary Ann moved into the comfort of the old woman's knees, and tracing her finger around Mrs.

McBride's frayed and rusty coat sleeve, and with one eye c.o.c.ked upwards that held just a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt in it, she said, "There was a nun like you in the convent, Mrs. McBride."

The shout that filled the kitchen brought Lizzie to the door, and Mrs. McBride, her hands in the air,

bellowed to her, "Have you heard this 'un?" y' Lizzie, smiling, shook her head.

"There's a nun like me! Can you see that, Liz?"

Again Lizzie shook her head and her smile broadened, and

Mary Ann, looking from one to the other of the women, for the

j first time in days, laughed freely. "But there was, Ma. It was

"**" Sister Alvis; she talked like Mrs. McBride, and she looked like

her."

The roar filled the kitchen again, and f.a.n.n.y cried, "Well, I've been likened to many things, and everything on the farm from a

heifer to a cow in " She rubbed her finger across her nose

and did not finish her description, but cried, "And many more things I've been likened to. But a nun !

BeG.o.d, I'm going up in the world. What do you say, Liz, eh? A nun. Eeh! Oh, hinny!" She touched Mary Ann's cheek tenderly. "That's imagination for you. G.o.d help her, poor woman, if she was like me."

"She was, Mrs. McBride, and I liked her."

"Bless you, bairn."

"Mrs. McBride " Mary Ann started playing with the b.u.t.tons on the old woman's blouse as she said, "You know something? I can speak French and

German."

"No! French and German?"

"Yes, I learnt it at the convent."

"Go on, let's hear you."

Mary Ann considered a moment, then said very slowly, as if each word was being dragged from as far

away as the convent, "Nous avons-une grande maison-et-un beau jardin. ... Je

vive-avec ma mere et mon pere. That's me ma and da, that last bit."

"Your ma and da in French? G.o.d in Heaven ! D'ye hear that, Liz? That's what education does for you. Makes you into a foreigner." She laughed. "Go on, tell us some more."

"German?"

"Aye, German. Oh my, can you speak German an' all?"

Mary Ann, all woes forgotten for the moment, and in an accent that was more Geordie than German, was telling her friend that this was her brother Hans, and Mrs. McBride's eyes were stretching to a complimentary width when an alarmed exclamation of, "Oh, no!" from Lizzie made them both look towards the window.

Lizzie was carrying a tray full of tea things which she now held stiffly suspended, and her gaze was fixed on something outside. Again she exclaimed, "Oh, no!" then quickly turning she looked across the room and said, "Your grannie!"

"Me grannie?" Mary Ann had pulled herself from Mrs.-McBride, and Mrs. McBride exclaimed, "Oh, G.o.d in Heaven, not her! How did she get here, she wasn't on the bus?"

Lizzie wearily putting down the tray on the table said, "She's sported a taxi seemingly."

Mary Ann could say nothing. She looked from her mother to Mrs. McBride, then towards the door, but she did not attempt to make her usual escape. She was experiencing very much the same feeling as she had done when she had been confronted by Beatrice at the door of the recreation room. She felt tied to the room, to the spot. She turned towards a chair and sat down. She had no fight in her with which to combat what was surely coming from her grannie, and all for her, exclusively for her.

Within a minute, there came a sharp rat-tat on the front door, and walking heavily Lizzie went to open it, while Mrs. McBride arranged herself as if ready for battle. She opened her coat, smoothed down her skirt, hitched up her enormous bust, then folded her arms under it, while Mary Ann, from her chair, kept her eyes on the door.

As Mrs. McMullen's strident voice was heard from the hall, f.a.n.n.y hissed across to Mary Ann, "Don't look like that, that's i53 not you. Give her as good as she sends. Go on, up with that chin of yours."

With an effort Mary Ann lifted up her head, and as soon as her grannie entered the room she made herself look straight into her face. The look seemed to hold Mrs. McMullen, and she stopped and stared back at her grandchild. Then, with her eyes slowly drawing to slits, she gave a pregnant exclamation.

"Ah!" she said. Then looking towards Mrs. McBride, she added, "Huh!" and f.a.n.n.y, her face and voice amiable, replied, "Aye, huh ! We're all out the day, eh, like Flannagan's Fleas."

Mrs. McMullen, wearing a stately dignity, moved to the big chair near the fire. "You must speak for yourself, Mrs. McBride, I am visiting my daughter."

Now it was f.a.n.n.y's turn to say, "Huh!"

"Will you ha've a cup of tea, Mother?" Lizzie stood near the ^tray, and Mrs. McMullen with raised eyebrows, said, "Well, I should think that goes without saying after this journey."

"Was your journey really necessary?" f.a.n.n.y, trying to imitate a refined tw.a.n.g, muttered this under her breath, and it brought into Mary Ann's worried being a little gurgle of laughter. Oh, Mrs. McBride was funny. Oh, she was glad she was here. Her grannie wouldn't start on her surely, not in front of Mrs. McBride . . . she'd hold her tongue for a while.

But Mary Ann had misjudged her grannie's powers of selfcontrol, for no sooner had she received a cup of tea from Lizzie's slightly shaking hand then she turned her eyes on her granddaughter and again gave her pregnant exclamation, then added, "So you're back!"

Mary Ann said nothing, she only looked at her grannie, and her grannie began to stir her tea while she peered down into the cup. Then without raising her eyes she said, "I suppose now that you've had the whole country on the alert for you you're feeling fine. Trust you to draw attention to yourself."

Mary Ann's eyes slid to her mother and Mrs. McBride and then back to her grannie. SI e had found no help in the sight of her ma's shoulders stooped over the tray, nor from Mrs. McBride's face which seemed to be expressionless-she had no one to rely on but herself. But the forced proximity to her grannie was restoring her fighting feeling. Her grannie's words were now stinging her all over, like hailstones.

"I suppose, as usual, you were greeted with open arms and pptted on the head, and told what a clever girl you were, eh?"

There was a clatter of cups as Lizzie moved the tray, and there was a wriggle of Mrs. McBride's hips as Mrs. McMullen went on, "And I suppose the big fellow said 'Well done'? Like father like daughter ! "

"Mother, I'm having none of this. It's finished, it's all over. If you want to stay, please forget it."

Mrs. McMullen reared her head so high that it looked as if her hat was going to topple off the top of her abundant hair as she said, "Am I getting the door again?"

"There's no need to talk about the door, Mother. Only leave her be, she's been through enough."

"Huh! huh!" Mrs. McMullen sipped her tea then exclaimed bitterly, "You were always soft with her-like clarts."

There came a deep sigh from f.a.n.n.y and she exclaimed quietly, "Well, in this case, it isn't like mother like daughter, is it? Eh?"

Mrs. McMullen turned her haughty gaze on f.a.n.n.y, and replied icily, "I didn't think I was addressing you, Mrs. McBride."

"No," said f.a.n.n.y, "neither did I. But tell me"-she leaned towards Mrs. McMullen-"tell me, what do you think of this fine job your son-in-law's landed? Isn't this one great, big, grand farm?"

"I am not in the habit of discussing my family's business with outsiders." Mrs. McMullen put down her cup and folded her hands.

"No. Only when you want to kick them in the backside, Mike in particular, with old Ma Flannagan." f.a.n.n.y's voice was hard.

"Look," said Lizzie, her eyes darting between her mother and Mrs. McBride, "I want no more of this, one way or the other."

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment, during which Mrs. McMullen stood up and deliberately took off her coat and hat. Then sitting down again and unable to restrain her tongue or curiosity, she asked of Lizzie, "Well, and what's going to happen to her now? You can't tell me that the old boy will have any more interest in her after this. She's made him the laughing *55 stock of the country." There was another tense pause, and Mrs. McMullen slowly turned around to meet Mary Ann's eyes. "Jarrow school, I suppose again, and serve you right. I hope you have a nice time when you meet Sarah Flannagan and the rest of them. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when you go back there!"

"I'm not going back!" The words seemed squeezed out of Mary Ann's throat.

"Oh!" Mrs. McMullen's head bounced slowly. "And where are you going, pray?"

"I'm going to another school-a better one." Mary Ann's nose was twitching, a sure sign of her inner agitation. "Biggernicer."

The wishful thinking was only all too plain to her grannie, and she laughed as she said, "You've got some hopes. If I heard aright, the old boy's washed his hands of you, and not you alone by all accounts. No, not you alone!"

Mary Ann knew instinctively who the "not you alone" meant. That meant her da. She was saying that Mr. Lord had washed his hands of her da. Her grannie was a liar. Her grannie was bad, wicked-the Devil. Yes, that's who her grannie was, the Devil dressed up! She wished she would have a fit and die in it.

And her grannie's next words caused Mary Ann to make an effort to bring her wishful thinking into operation. For just as Mrs. McMullen was placing her empty cup on the table she made a statement. "It's the case of the sow's ear all over again," she said.

No one was more startled than Mrs. McMullen as a sample of concentrated fury flung itself at her, and before her flabby hand could prevent it happening, her cheek was scratched in several places.

What followed was a good five minutes of sheer pandemonium, during which Mrs. McMullen poured her vitriolic venom into the air of the kitchen and Lizzie held the struggling and screaming child, while Mrs. McBride, yelling her loudest at Mrs. meMullen, and that was saying something, told her what she had thought of her, not only for the last year or so either, but from the time they had been girls together in the neighbourhood of Jarrow.

When at last Lizzie managed to quieten Mary Ann's screams, she picked her up in her arms and made for the stairs, and just as she reached them Mike came hurrying into the kitchen. He stood for a second on the threshold, taking in the whole situation, then growled, "What's going on here? You can hear you all over the farm ! " His eyes moved swiftly from Mary Ann in her mother's arms to his mother-in-law's bleeding face, and he spoke directly to her, cutting off her own tirade just as she was about to flood him with it. "We always get what we ask for. For my part I can say it's a pity it wasn't the other side an' all." Then moving across the room, he addressed f.a.n.n.y briefly by saying, "h.e.l.lo, there, Fan."

"h.e.l.lo, Mike," said f.a.n.n.y, just as briefly.

Then when he reached the door he gathered up Mary Ann from Lizzie's arms and went up the stairs.

'57 Father Owen was very weary. He sat in the confessional box, his hand shading his eyes and only half listening, it must be confessed, to Jimmy Hathaway's confession. Jimmy had made the same confession for as many years as Father Owen cared to remember. It began, "Drunk, three times last week, Father . . . very sorry." Only the number of times he had erred ever varied. It could'be as many as six or as few as one, but whatever the number his reactions to his lapse were always the same, and his way of confessing it never varied. "Knocked her about a bit, Father."

It was as well, Father Owen sometimes thought, that Peggy Hathaway could not become any dafter. Jimmy Hathaway was beyond hope, and, years before, the priest had given up any idea of earthly redemption for him, but this had not stopped him from trying to save his soul. But tonight he dismissed him without even the usual advice, with only a curt, "One Our Father and ten Hail Mary's," wondering as he did so, if they would ever be said.

Father Owen sighed as he heard Jimmy stumbling out of the box, and when next a thin whine came to him he repeated his sigh. It was a bad night, all the hopeless cases of the parish seemed to have got together at once. This penitent, he knew, was Mrs. Leggatt. Although he did not know what would be forthcoming in Mrs. Leggatt's confession, he knew her well enough to expect nothing but a tirade of petty spite and pilfering, and his mind said, "Oh dear, dear ! " Altogether, it had been a trying day.

Father Beaney had been at his most pompous, his most patronising, his most overbearing. Of course he knew that his superior's att.i.tude had been invoked by the young curate. The newcomer had tested his own nerves, for what was more putting off to a man in his sixties than a warm-blooded enthusiast out to outdo even G.o.d Himself .. . out to reform all human nature in his own way . . . which was the best way, of course, being the latest way. Oh, yes, beween Father Beaney and G.o.d's latest lieutenant, he'd been sorely tried this day. And not only today, but all the week. And this had brought about his own lapse. Only in extreme emergencies did he allow himself a double dose of his "cough mixture" before retiring. His weak will had tempted him to tell himself that the events of the week could be const.i.tuted an emergency. His patron saint, Miss Honeysett, his housekeeper, and the good G.o.d, together allowed him one gla.s.s, but at times he was apt to ignore all three and take a second helping of his comforter . . . his conscience didn't trouble him so much at night, for the flesh was warmed and weak then. But in the morning it was a different kettle of fish, for then it loomed at the side of his bed, looking at him, nodding its head and saying, "The LINO penance for you, me boy-the LINO penance for you." To an outsider the lino penance might seem so light as to be no penance at all, but when one of the things you have been unable to stand during the whole course of your life is your bare feet on cold linoleum, what more harsh treatment could a conscience extract from you but bid you get out of a warm bed and put your feet on to slabs of ice and to keep them there while you dressed-and the blood in your veins already like water. Oh, it had been a trying day. What was that? He p.r.i.c.ked his ears up as Mrs. Leggatt's voice whimpered, "And it wasn't gold at all, Father, so I didn't feel so bad about it. Six shillings I got on it; that was all."

"Have you taken it back?"

"No, Father."

"And you come her expecting absolution?"

There was no answer from Mrs. Leggatt.

"Now away with you, and go and get that brooch out of p.a.w.n, and when you have returned it to its owner you can come back and we'll discuss the matter further. Away you go now."

Father Owen sounded angry. He was angry. Would they never learn?

He heard Mrs. Leggatt's heavy breathing and noticed, not without some satisfaction, that she tripped heavily on leaving the box. G.o.d had His ways.

His hand was again covering his eyes when the door opened and the usual shuffle to the kneeler was made, and he became slightly impatient when no voice started on the act of confession. He said, somewhat sharply, "Yes? Go on."

"Pray, Father, give me thy blessing, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession . . . but not here."

Some feeling, not incomparable with the warmth of a good gla.s.s of whisky on a cold night, shot through Father Owen. It was Mary Ann. Well, he had been expecting her-it would be good to see the child again. Oh, my, yes, but he must not let her see this, he rnust give her a sound ticking off. She had really gone beyond'all bounds this time. Stirred up the whole country for a few hours, and what was more had thrown over the chance of a lifetime. Wilful, wilful. And that chance, if he knew anything, would not be repeated. Old Lord was not a man to give second chances, even to bewitchers like Mary Ann. He checked the eagerness in his voice and said flatly, "Go on."

Mary Ann's voice came to him clear and soft through the grill. "I've never missed Ma.s.s, Father, or Communion, and I've said me morning and night prayers every day, but I've been bad, Father." There was a pause. "I run away from school." There came another pause which he did not break, and her voice when she went on was much more definite. "There was a girl there. She was really the Devil, like you said, so it wasn't my fault."

There was a gulp from the box and the priest muttered, "We won't go into whose fault it was. Get on with your confession."

The voice had a little tremor in it now as it came to him, saying, "I'm sorry, Father, I didn't mean to do it, but I was worried. Me ma was worried. It was all over me da."

Oh, that da ! That child and her da ! What had the man done now that had caused her to run away from school and throw up the chance of a lifetime? "What was the matter with your da?"

"Nothing, Father. Only there was a girl on our farm and our Michael told me about her. She was always running after me da, and me ma was worried, and I got a letter and she had been crying, and I wanted to come home."