The Bells of Scotland Road (27 page)

She smiled at him. ‘Would you go with me?’

‘Of course.’

‘And, if I do decide to allow Cathy to live with Edith, would you keep an eye on her? It’s not that I don’t trust Richard and Edith to look after my child, but you have taught
Cathy and you’ve seen her happy in school. So you would know what to look for.’

He gave his promise. ‘Will you have that cup of tea?’

‘No, thank you. I’m off to see the horses again – this time by myself. We took the girls over this morning, but I’d like to look at the horses alone. You know, I remember
both of them being born, the filly and the colt. Silver looked like a huge spider – all legs, he was. Sorrel’s a gentle soul. I think I might let her brood, for she’d make a
wonderful mother.’ She stood up. ‘In fact, if I’m any judge of horses, we could earn enough from those two to pay our own school fees.’

Anthony followed her to the door. ‘I watched you riding,’ he said when she was outside on the short path. ‘At the stables. No saddle, no bridle.’ He laughed.
‘Judging from what I saw then, you’d do well in a circus.’

She felt the heat in her cheeks. ‘If I’d known about the audience, I would have lost my seat.’

‘Would you?’

She paused for a moment, slightly bemused by the expression on his face and the tone of his voice. ‘Probably,’ she replied, ‘though I’ve been riding since I could walk,
and there wasn’t always a saddle to suit me.’

He looked her full in the face, tried to memorize the shape of her features, the eye colour, the skin tones.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘Will I bandage that hand?’

‘I’m fine.’

She backed away, waved, swung into the lane and walked off.

He stood at the door until she had disappeared round a bend in the track. She had read him, he felt sure. She had seen him for what he was, a total idiot who was finding his own way to hell. The
Bells, he mused, were all in a bloody mess. Dad was as cold as ice, Grandmuth was failing, Liam was . . . Liam.

The tea was stewed past drinking. He started again, filled the kettle, stoked the fire, spooned out tea. His hand didn’t hurt much any more. But he was still in pain, because he was a
fool. Heartache was an acquaintance with whom he had been on nodding terms for many years. So Anthony did what he always did at times like these. He picked up a book and buried himself in someone
else’s turmoil.

Bridie idled her way back to the stables. She needed some time to herself, because the last few days had been so exciting, buying clothes, packing, travelling. The air was good
here in spite of those factories down below, and she was enjoying the greenness of everything. Why had he looked at her like that? Was he asking some sort of a question without words?

A man entered the lane and lifted his cap to her. She watched him leading the cows home to their shippon. Bridie had always liked cows. They appeared stupid, with their soft eyes and docile
expressions, but they were far from that. The Friesians apportioned her a few cursory glances, then carried on with their journey, tails swishing, udders swollen with milk.

Why had he looked at her like that? Buttercups danced in the ditch and a few pink-tipped daisies struggled to survive among denser weed. Eugene had looked at her like that. A pair of thrushes
walked along in front of her. Strange how some birds hopped and some walked. Thrushes were watchers. Many times at home she had got close to one of these feathered eejits. They were too inquisitive
for their own good. He had been trying to tell her something with his eyes.

It was a good school. But Cathy might feel rejected if Bridie let her leave the family home. He had dark-brown eyes. They were not gentle like a cow’s eyes, but they were not harsh like
Liam’s. And it seemed the most desperate cheek to allow Edith to pay for Cathy’s education. Mind, if the horses came good, things might be different after a while.

Bridie stopped and sat on a tree stump. Her mind was all over the place. She looked at a cabbage white that fluttered among the long grasses, felt a degree of empathy with the creature. Like
her, the butterfly settled on nothing. He just blundered along softly, stopping for a split second then wandering off again. Like her, he was bewildered. The man whose house she had just visited
seemed confused, too. She was his father’s wife. Bridie shook herself and stood up.

No, she had to be wrong, surely? Anthony could not possibly feel anything for her. If he did – and he didn’t – that would be totally against nature. She was supposed to be his
stepmother, for goodness sake. A handsome man like that one did not need to make eyes at the person who had just married his father.

Yet her heart was beating a little faster and, somewhere inside, she was smiling. Was it possible to smile inside and not outside? ‘Pull yourself together, woman,’ she muttered.
‘You’ve horses to visit.’ In spite of this reprimand, Bridie walked the rest of the way with excitement staining her cheeks. Unfortunately, she was the sudden victim of emotions
over which she found no control.

Edith Spencer was ensconced in her small library with Bridie Bell’s daughters. The younger one, armed with wax crayons, was inflicting grievous bodily harm on a sheet of
writing paper. Cathy had her eyes glued to a prospectus. ‘Is there any fun at all at Sacred Heart?’ she asked. It looked such a grim building. There was a photo of some girls standing
in a row of dark-grey misery. The uniform was so desperate that anyone at all would be unhappy in it, stupid skirt with box pleats, stupid hat with a horrible brim.

Edith had to think about that. ‘There’s organized fun,’ she replied. ‘Tennis, netball, gymnastics and rounders. Sometimes, the nuns hire a charabanc and take the girls
for day trips to Chester or York.’

Cathy studied the face of the headmistress. The headmistress had a page all to herself. She was so ugly. ‘Do they all look like her?’ The nuns at home in Galway and at the school in
Scotland Road had been ordinary, sometimes pretty, often young. The headmistress of Sacred Heart had a big nose, wire-rimmed glasses and a wart on her chin. The wart had three hairs sticking out of
it. ‘I don’t like her at all. Tildy’s mother would say this face is like the back end of a tram.’

Edith didn’t laugh. It was true that Mother Ignatius had an appearance fit to stop clocks. ‘She’s a very nice lady, Cathy. You may go and meet her if you wish.’

Cathy sat bolt upright. The thought of coming into contact with such an eyesore held little appeal. Of course, Mammy was always saying that beauty was skin deep and that many ugly people had
hearts of gold, but the little girl could not quite manage to believe that anyone with such steely eyes might have an ounce of kindness hidden beneath the wimple. ‘I don’t want to meet
her, thank you,’ said Cathy. ‘And why should I meet her?’

Edith took a deep breath. ‘Because Uncle Richard and I want to send you to that school. Of course, you would have to pass an entrance examination and you would need to live in or around
Bolton.’

Cathy blinked. ‘Are we coming to live here, then?’

‘No. Not all of you. And you need not stay with us and go to Sacred Heart if you don’t want to. It’s just that you are such a clever girl. There are excellent teachers at
Sacred Heart. They take very few pupils under the age of eleven, but their kindergarten would give you the best possible start in life. You would be glad in the end, Cathy. You could even go on to
university.’

The child closed her book to shut out the offending photograph. She could not imagine attending any school whose boss looked like the back of a tram. ‘I want to stay with Mammy,’ she
said.

Edith decided not to go into the business of cajoling and persuading. She could have told the child about all the freedom she would enjoy on the farms, could have reminded her of the animals
that were housed on Spencer land. Instead, she simply turned to Shauna and looked at the drawings.

Cathy didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what to think. She liked Aunt Edith and Uncle Richard, but she was happy enough in her latest resting place. Until May of last year,
she had lived with Mammy and Daddy and Shauna on a farm. Then Daddy had died, and she had lived with Mammy and Shauna on the same farm. The move to Granda’s had not been a happy one, and the
relocation to Liverpool had brought its problems. The idea of further upheaval was not attractive. Did Mammy not want her any more? Were the Costigans fed up with her, too? ‘What does Mammy
want me to do?’ she asked finally.

Edith turned away from the prattling Shauna. ‘Your mother wants the best for you, of course.’

Cathy had worked out that what grown-ups thought best for a child was not always what the child would have chosen. Castor oil or California Syrup of Figs were often listed and administered as
the best thing. Going to mass on Holy Days of Obligation was another best thing, even when the weather was cold and the bed was warm. ‘The best is not always the best,’ she said, almost
to herself.

Edith smiled and kept her counsel. The remark made by Cathy proved a point, the very point on which Edith Spencer was pinning her hopes. Cathy was perceptive. Sooner or later, she would require
the kind of education that was offered only by schools like Sacred Heart. And Edith would still be here when Cathy needed her.

The Spencer Stables were situated on Spencer land, though Robert Cross Esquire was very much in charge of all equine and human life on the acreage he ran for Richard Spencer.
The house in which he lived was a total shambles. A die-hard bachelor by nature, Bob Cross put horses first every time. The stables and yards were spotless, but finding a chair on which to sit in
his kitchen was almost impossible.

He allowed Bridie to enter his domain, sweeping a pile of clothing from a battered but once ornate monks’ bench beneath the window to provide her with a seat. ‘Got you a saddle
here,’ he said. ‘Best leather, straight out of Walker’s Tannery not long back. It’s a good one.’

Bridie examined the specimen, thought it was brand new. ‘Did Richard buy this for me?’

‘Nay,’ said Bob. ‘I’ve had it cleaned up. See, there’s hardly any wear to the seat, and we’ve shined all the brass. It’ll adjust all right to suit
you.’

Bridie examined it closely, ran a hand over pommel and cantle, checked stirrups and cinch. ‘It’s in very good condition,’ she told him. ‘Actually, I often ride
bareback.’

He nodded, stuck a match between his teeth and chewed for a moment. ‘Them’s damn good horses you’ve got there, Mrs Bell. They want training. There’s many a mile in that
there stallion. Rum bugger, mind. Not beyond kicking somebody into the middle of next Tuesday, yon feller.’

Bridie grinned. Bob Cross’s accent was very like Muth’s. Edith had honed her vowels to match her status, but her aunt, Theresa, remained very much a Lancastrian, as did this chap.
‘He needs to get used to a saddle, then.’

‘Oh aye,’ replied Bob. ‘He’s not keen on tack, your Silver. Won’t take no bridling, no halter, not yet. Only there’s not many races run bareback, tha knows.
Stable lad’s had a go with Silver, got a lead rein on him after about half an hour of murder, but the horse didn’t take to him. Lad’s leg’s nearly all reet now.’

It didn’t seem quite proper to smile when some poor boy’s leg had felt the business end of Silver’s not inconsiderable strength, so Bridie made her expression sober.
‘I’d like to ride Sorrel today. She has a pleasant nature, as I’m sure you will have noticed. Silver responds to singing, by the way.’

The man stared at her and ran a hand through hair grizzled enough to resemble a horse’s short-cut mane. ‘I’m no good at singing,’ he said seriously. ‘Not since me
voice broke. But I can get a lend of one of them wind-up gramophone things. Does he like Richard Tauber? Or will he need one of them Eye-talian singers with moustaches and big bellies?’

He was laughing at her. She could see from the twinkle in his eyes that he was unsure about this tiny Irish filly’s ability to handle highly-strung stock. ‘I saw him born,’ she
informed him. ‘I was there when he took his first steps. He had legs right up to the barn ceiling then.’ She lifted her head, ‘I do know quite a lot about horses, Mr
Cross.’

‘Aye, and so do I. That stallion’d kill you soon as look at you. Shows the whites of his eyes a lot. But there again, yon’s the spirit as wins races. Shall I walk you
down?’

‘If you wish.’ Bridie knew better than to wander about on Bob Cross’s sacred soil without his company. He adored horses, tolerated people. She kept up with him, just about,
because his stride was long. As they turned into the stable yard, she came upon a sight that almost took her breath away. Her opinion of Bob Cross changed in an instant. He did love people after
all. ‘How long have you been doing this?’

He scraped a dirty hand across his ill-shaven chin. ‘A while,’ he answered.

Little ponies trotted meekly round the yard, each one accompanied by an adult. On these mounts sat children, some of them so disabled that they required holding in position by their guides. A
blind boy grinned widely, his sightless eyes rolling at the sky. A tiny girl with callipers lay belly down across a blanket, her hands stroking her pony’s flank. ‘It’s a good man
you are, Bob Cross,’ said Bridie quietly. ‘Though I’ll tell no-one your secret.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Childer has what you might call an affinity with animals,’ he said gravely. ‘And these particular kiddies need to touch things, to learn, like. Ten
minutes twice a week does them the world of good.’ He nodded at a lady who supported a thin, wasted infant. ‘Ponies is from the pits,’ he added. ‘Used to toil, they are.
Getting them used to light were another matter, I can tell thee. Near blind, they were. Good as gold, and all, never a minute’s trouble out of any of them.’

Bridie bit down on her lower lip. She would cry in a minute, she really would. That a bachelor should understand so well the needs of these special children . . .

‘Animals and childer is same thing,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘All they need is good grub, a warm bed and a kind word. So they belong together.’

‘That’s the truth,’ she told him. ‘And God bless you for what you do here.’ She was learning all the time, she reminded herself. She was staying in a grand house
whose owners refused to be grand. She had met a bachelor with a love for animals and for children.