Mary Ann Shaughnessy - The Devil And Marianne Part 3

Slowly Mike turned from the table and went into the scullery, and Lizzie, close behind him, shut the door and, going to him, took him by the ajgh.

"Oh! Mike, why do you let her get at you? You know she's ddlftg it on purpose. Why don't you laugh at her?"

"Laugh at her!" Mike's teeth ground each other, setting Lizzie's on edge, and his voice rumbled in his throat, "Strangle her, more like ! "

"Mike! don't say that. Can't you see? She's mad because we're set and comfortable."

"Why didn't you tell me she was here?"

"I couldn't; she had just got in when Mary Ann came in, all mud and " !

"I know. He brought her back."

"Mr. Lord?" ' '

"Aye."

"Oh! no." Lizzie's fingers went to her mouth. "And in her new things an' all !"

"Don't worry, he got a great deal of satisfaction out of it. I don't know whether he takes me for a complete fool or not

4.

where she's concerned, but he got a kick out of showing me just what he was taking her away from." "Oh, Mike! Don't look at it like that, he's not taking her away."

"Isn't he?" Mike reached for his coat, and as Lizzie moved to help his maimed arm into it, he thrust her aside almost roughly; then turning swiftly to her again, he grabbed her hand into his and, gripping it, he said, urgently, "Liz, I want to talk to you. I've been thinking all morning . . . and then that old "

His eyes flicked towards the kitchen door. "Liz, if we let her go we've lost her. I've never agreed with your mother in me life, but she's right there. This fancy place is bound to change her ... it can't but help it. I'm frightened, Liz, frightened inside."

His hand was almost cracking her knuckles, and Lizzie was now filled with a feeling akin to terror. "Mike . . . she's got to go."

"Got to?"

"I mean she's-she wants to. She'll-she'll break her heart if she doesn't go."

"You really think so?" Mike's gaze was penetrating into her, and Lizzie willed her eyes not to fall before it. Then he ended rapidly, "Anyway, how does she know what she wants, she's only a bairn?"

"She's old for her years, you know she is, and it's a chance in a lifetime. You said yourself rmny a time you wished you'd had the chance of education."

His grip on her hand slackened and his head drooped. "It's sending her so d.a.m.ned far away that's getting me."

Lizzie looked at him with love and pity in her eyes, but she continued to press Mr. Lord's case. "He thought with his sister being Mother Superior she'd likely be better looked after there."

Her voice trailed off, and Mike turned away and picked up his cap. "I wonder. I wonder a lot of things. Sometimes I think . . . Oh!" he pulled the cap firmly on to his head and made for the door; but there he turned back quickly, and, coming to her again, he pulled her to him, and with his one arm about her, he kissed her roughly, "I'm sorry about the dinner, Liz, but you know how it is."

After holding him close for a moment, she let him go and, moving to the window, she watched him walk down the path and into the lane. And, as ever, pride of him rose in her, but it did not swamp the fear, and as she braced herself to go into the kitchen again the fear came flooding over her. But it was not of her mother-the feeling her mother aroused was simply acute irritation-no, the fear was of her daughter, and she prayed for tomorrow to come and be gone, and Mary Ann with it.

r*r ***.

-42 3.

It was four o'clock and never had an afternoon seemed so long and empty to Mary Ann. After changing her clothes, right through, her mother had sent her out in her old things; and, glad to escape, she had immediately sought out her da. But to her surprise and inner hurt, Mike had said he was up to the eyes in work and that she must keep out of the way. He was a bit mad, she could see-that was her grannie. Oh, she hated her grannie, she did. But this was her last day; surely he hadn't forgotten that. Tomorrow she wouldn't be here, even if he had heaps of time to spare.

In die cowshed, Mr. Jones, too, had no use for her presence. He didn't even have to say so, he just looked. Len was up the long field mending a fence. Mr. Polinski only was available. But conversation was difficult at any time with him, and today doubly so, as he was working under a machine in the open barn. Not even the dogs were to be seen.

Completely at a loose end, she decided to go and say a lengthy goodbye to Mrs. Jones. But after three knocks on the cottage door she realised that even this doubtful pleasure was to be denied her. She was in the act of turning away when the back door of "their house"-she still thought of the next cottage as "their house"-was pulled open, and Mrs. Polinski stood there. She wasn't laughing now as she did when speaking to her da, her face was straight, and Mary Ann's discerning eyes told her that Mrs. Polinski had been crying, for in spite of her being all done up, her eyes were red and swollen.

When she saw Mary Ann the young woman's expression changed, and, smiling now, she said, "h.e.l.lo there."

"h.e.l.lo," said Mary Ann, politely. "I've come to say goodbye to Mrs. Jones, but I think she's out."

43 "Yes, she is. But aren't you going to say goodbye to me?" The young woman paused, waiting for Mary Ann to say, "Yes." And when she did so Mrs. Polinski stepped aside, saying, "Come in and see if I've got any sweets left. Come on."

Mary Ann went in, and was immediately arrested by the change in the cottage. She had known the kitchen as a colourful place, all bright and shiny, but now it looked awful. There was a red carpet on the floor. Whoever heard of a carpet in the kitchen ! No wonder it was mucky. And a red suite, all greasy at the back where the heads had been. And dust . . . the mantelpiece was thick with it. Even the ashes hadn't been taken out for days . . . anybody could see that.

"Look, have a chocolate. You're lucky, for they're nearly finished."

Mary Ann stared down at the box offered to her. You only had boxes of chocolates at Christmas. "Oh, ta ... thank you." She took one, a silver-papered one.

"Take two."

"Oh, can I? Ta."

"You're going in the morning then?"

"Yes." The won4Srful taste of the chocolate was taking even the .sting out of this admission.

"bu're lucky."

Mary Ann paused in her chewing, but remained mute to this.

"You don't know how lucky . . . with a man like Mr. Lord at your back." Mrs. Polinski shook her head

slowly, as if at the wonder of it.

Again Mary Ann found nothing to say; so she ate the second chocolate.

"Do you know it's only four and a half years ago since I left school?"

Mary Ann stopped munching. "Only four and a half?"

"Yes, and oh, how I wish I was back." Mrs. Polinski sat down heavily; then leant towards Mary Ann.

"Make school last as long as possible."

Her voice sounded hard, and Mary Ann said, "I don't want to; I don't like school."

"No, not now you don't, no one ever does, but one day you'll

look back and long for school again. How old do you think I am?" She pressed herself back against the couch, giving Mary Ann room for scrutiny.

Mary Ann looked at the round, smooth face, the blonde hair that wasn't like her ma's, and she thought, I don't know; but she's married so she must be old. "Twenty," she said.

"You're nearly right."

Mary Ann gave no congratulatory exclamation at this, and Mrs. Polinski sighed and, pulling a bundle of sewing towards her, said somewhat dispiritedly, "I'm making myself a frock. Do you like the colour?" She held the dress up.

Politely Mary Ann looked at the dress, and politely she said, "Yes, it's nice." But in her head she was saying, quite distinctly, "I don't like it. Why does she have everything red?"

"Your mother's going to miss you."

"Yes," Mary Ann nodded. "So's me da."

"Your da." The hands became still on the material, and Mrs. Polinski looked at Mary Ann, a smile on her lips now. "You like your da, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes." Again Mrs. Polinski sighed; and her hands began to move once more. "Who'd blame you; he's a fine man is your father-your da." She laughed softly now, as if to herself.

As Mary Ann stared at the girl aimlessly fumbling with the material, she had a strong and urgent desire to get up from the couch and run away, to fly away. This was odd, for anyone who spoke highly of her da commanded her whole attention. Yet this feeling urged her not to listen to Mrs. Polinski, but to dash off and not to her da, but to her mother. And she knew what she-'d say to her mother . . . she'd say, "I don't like Mrs. Polinski, I don't." And if her mother asked why, she'd say, " 'Cos she wants to go back to school." But she knew that wasn't really why she didn't like her. Then, why didn't she? She shook her head. Swiftly she rose now, saying, "Eeh! I've got to go, I forgot something. Thanks for the sweets."

"Oh." Mrs. Polinski pulled herself out of her reverie. "Oh, all right. . . . Well, goodbye, Mary Ann. Be a good girl, and remember what I told you."

There was no interest in her tone at all now, and its lack was expressed finally, when she added, "You can let yourself out. Bye-bye."

"Bye-bye."

Once outside, Mary Ann began to run, not caring very much where she was bound for; and her thoughts ran with her, jumping when she jumped. Mrs. Polinski was awful. The thought was high in her head.

Look at her house, all red and dirty. She skipped over the gra.s.s verge. She didn't like her, she didn't.

On and on she ran, her thoughts swirling around Mrs. Polinski until, when in sight of the main road, she was brought to a sudden stop by a st.i.tch in her side.

She stood groaning. "Oh ! ... Oh ! By gum . . . Ooh ! Crikey Moses!" It was the worst of the many st.i.tches she had experienced, it brought her over double. "Oh! Lordy! Lordy!"

"Are you hurt?"

She glanced up sideways at the young man bending above her.

"Oh! I've got a st.i.tch. Oh! it's awful."

"Rub it." His face was serious and a little twisted, as if he, too, was feeling the* st.i.tch, and she did as he bid her, and rubbed her side vigorously.

PlaOw ! As she straightened up she was actually sweating, and the young man's voice was sympathetic as he said, "Yes, I know what diat is. it can be awful."

Mary Ann looked at him. "It's gone now."

"Good."

She continued to stare at the stranger as she rubbed her side. Who was he? He looked nice, and he talked sw.a.n.ky. Like Mr. Lord, only different. He was looking now across the field, to where stood the skeleton of die new barn.

"That barn," he said. "Whose is it?"

"Me da's."

When his eyes quickly came to hers, she added quickly and in a somewhat offended tone, "Well, he's

manager, it's the same thing."

"I'm looking for Mr. Lord's farm."

She blinked twice, before saying, "That's it."

He was turning his gaze to the field again, when he hesitated and looked down at her once more, and there was the faintest trace of a smile on his sombre countenance, and it told Mary Ann that he understood things without a lot of explaining, and she thought again, He's nice.

"What's your name?""Mary Ann Shaughnessy; and me da's Mike Shaughnessy. He's a grand farmer, me da.""Yes, I'm sure he is.""He knows everything." She stressed this point, smiling broadly up at him."Does he? I'm glad of that." : . . ."What's your name?""Tony. Tony Brown." . * *She didn't think much of Brown as a name, but he was nice, and not old-well, not very. She did not ask, "How old are you?" because her mother had said she hadn't to ask people that. But she tried to gain her information by putting her question on a more friendly basis : "I'm eight, goin' on for nine. Are you very old?"

"Yes, pretty old."