The Bells of Scotland Road (36 page)

He sank into a chair and steered his breathing towards an even pattern. If he went to the main house, there might be trouble. So he sat and waited, hoping with all his heart that the woman he
loved would be safe. Again, that familiar sense of uselessness invaded him, making him weak and suddenly weary. The unfortunate truth was that Liam would remain free as a bird until someone else
died or got hurt. Even then, Liam might not be caught.

Anthony closed his eyes and prayed for Bridie, Maureen and Bridie’s little girls. He prayed also for Liam, remembered the story of Jesus on the cross. The Saviour had looked at His
tormentors, had forgiven them. ‘They know not what they do,’ the Lord had said. Like Liam, they had not been in control.

Silver was in a mood. He showed Bob Cross the whites of his eyes, nodded angrily, snorted, tried to free himself from bridle and rein. He kept Bridie well in view, because he
remembered and tolerated her, just about, but he raised a hoof each time Bob Cross came within striking distance.

Bridie observed. Quicksilver seemed to have forgotten many of his manners. The horse was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful sights she had ever beheld. He was perfectly proportioned, with
a large, well-covered ribcage, rippling shoulders and hard, muscular thighs. This fellow was built for running and staying the course. But he had a wickedness in him, and this was the quality she
admired above all others. Silver’s naughtiness was born of intelligence. He had the sense not to trust on sight, but now, he needed to accept a human friend. Once courted, the horse would be
a gallant and loyal steed.

Bob Cross, stablemaster and would-be monarch of the stallion he surveyed, grunted and gave up. He dragged the rein to Bridie and placed it in her hands. ‘He’ll do better for
you,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I hear from our new headmaster that you can charm this blinking horse. So get charming.’

Bridie did not move. She didn’t want to get too close, because she would soon return to Liverpool. Silver needed to ally himself to someone else, and she hoped that the ‘someone
else’ would be arriving at any moment. ‘No,’ she told Bob. ‘I want him to forget me. This fellow will take only one master, and it’s best if he gets used to . . . what
was his name?’

‘Robin Smythe. Well, Harrington-Smythe, really.’

‘My goodness, what a mouthful.’ She turned her head and saw the ‘mouthful’ walking towards her, riding boots polished, crop slapping his shin. He wasn’t even a
mouthful, she thought. He looked like a child who had aged prematurely.

Robin Smythe held out his hand. ‘Robin will do,’ he said, performing a comical little bow. ‘Mrs Bell?’

‘That’s me.’ She shook his tiny hand. ‘And Bridie will be quite all right, thank you.’ He had kind eyes and his face looked weathered, as if he spent a lot of time
outdoors.

Bob Cross came over. ‘This one’s a bugger,’ he said, pointing out the wayward stallion.

‘And that bugger’s a winner if ever I saw one,’ replied Robin. He threw down the crop and sidled over to the horse. ‘No nonsense now,’ the tiny man told Silver.
‘You and I will be friends if I have to kill you. Understood?’

Silver tossed his mane and tried to run away, but Robin grabbed the rein from Bridie and swung himself onto the horse’s back. Silver took exception and began to buck and rear like a newly
caught wild yearling. But Robin held on.

‘He’s good,’ remarked Bridie. So far, she was impressed by what she had seen of Robin Smythe.

Bob nodded. ‘He’s heartbroken. We’re lucky to get him to visit. He’s between horses, and he makes the same mistake as you and me, love. He gets fond of these wearisome
beggars. He loved his last one, loved it too much for his own good.’

‘And was his last horse difficult?’

Bob jerked his head and guffawed. ‘Difficult? He was a raving bloody lunatic till Robin bested him. There’s no beast in existence that doesn’t fall under Robin’s
spell.’

Robin Smythe lay flat across the withers and along Silver’s neck. Like a streamlined bird, man and horse cut through the air as if welded together. Bridie held her breath and prayed that
the jockey would remain on board. Silver had a strong desire to be the boss, but he would surely respond once he respected his rider.

‘That’s the York races won,’ laughed Bob. ‘Let’s watch the Derby.’

The horse streaked past with Robin hanging on like grim death. ‘I want Robin to ride for us,’ said Bridie excitedly. ‘He’ll manage Silver. Try to persuade him,
Bob.’

Robin and Silver ground to an unbecoming halt. The jockey jumped down as easily as stepping off the last rung of a ladder. Silver cocked his head and looked at the small person who had just
driven him to run at least a quarter of a mile. He thrashed the earth with a hoof, then bent to sniff the grass.

Robin Smythe left the horse chewing and blowing. ‘I’ll take him,’ he said. ‘But I’d like to try the other one, too.’ He grinned at Bridie. ‘I lost my
favourite a few weeks ago. They’ve nothing else I want to ride, which is why I’m looking round. This one is interesting.’ He turned back and placed a hand on Silver’s neck.
‘See? He never flinched. He knows who’s in charge.’

Bridie spoke to Bob. ‘I can’t pay for all this. Edith’s already feeding and stabling the pair.’

The old man smiled. ‘She’ll get her money back, don’t worry.’

Bridie wished she could be sure. The horses looked good and ran well, but there could be many a slip between now and next year’s races, many a strained muscle. ‘Then who pays
Robin?’

The miniature man joined them. ‘That’s not for you to worry about,’ he said.

Bob Cross laughed out loud. ‘Robin could buy and sell the Spencers without touching his bank account. He’s a very rich man.’

The jockey pretended to punch Bob Cross. ‘Shut up, man,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll have all the ladies after my money.’ He led the horse in the direction of the stable
yard.

‘Keep your fingers crossed,’ said Bob. ‘He’s the best.’

Bridie nodded to herself. If Robin was the best, then he deserved the best. From the way Bob had been talking, Bridie had gathered that Quicksilver and Sorrel were among the finest two-year-olds
in the North of England. ‘I must get back,’ she said. ‘Diddy will probably have had enough of Cathy and Shauna.’

Bob clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ he cried. ‘That nun’s at the house.’

‘Nun?’

‘Sacred Heart,’ said Bob. ‘Maureen asked me to tell you. There’s some sort of exam going on, like an entrance test. Are you sending Cathy to Sacred Heart,
then?’

Bridie pondered for a moment. ‘Well, let’s see does she have the brains for it,’ she said finally. Sacred Heart was another kind of race altogether, she reminded herself. But
there again, Cathy was a fine runner and a stayer. The trouble was, Cathy might just shy away from the starting pistol. ‘See you later,’ she told her companion. Then she walked back to
the lane and towards the big house.

Liam Bell made his way in the direction of Cherry Hinton. This was one of the days when he didn’t feel very well. Lately, he’d had to concentrate really hard, had
been forced to keep a tight rein on himself because his mind was playing up. Things he knew by heart were eluding him – names, addresses, bits of the Holy Mass. If he didn’t pull round,
he would be drying up in the pulpit, and that would never do.

It was tiredness, he supposed. The workload was heavy, especially since he had taken on the Welcome Home. He was finally in control, he kept telling himself. He could work with the wayward
without being tempted to punish. It was strange, but he got a great deal of pleasure out of helping that handful of whores. The work made him feel good, especially when one of the girls decided to
turn straight.

He glanced to his left and saw a tiny man leading a horse out of the field. A jockey, he thought. Then a woman leapt over the gate, her ankles just showing beneath grey culottes. It was Bridie.
It was the Irish widow who had married his father.

Bridie dusted herself down, saw a man approaching. Her heart skipped a beat, then she realized that this was not Anthony. Breathing was suddenly difficult. Liam was here and he had probably
visited his twin brother. A picture of a battered and bruised Anthony touched her consciousness for a split second. The need to run to the cottage was acute, yet she knew that she must stand firm.
She could soothe the priest. She could pander to his ego in the cause of peace. She could lie.

He stopped, looked her up and down.

‘Father Liam,’ Bridie managed, ‘how well you look. And it’s lovely to see you again. Did you visit Anthony?’

‘Yes,’ he growled. She had the temerity to stare straight into his eyes. She was so sure of herself.

‘Are you going to the big house?’ she asked.

‘I thought I might call in, yes,’ he replied.

‘Then walk with me.’ Her insides were churning, but she kept the smile on her face. ‘Keep safe,’ Anthony had ordered. ‘Stay away from him.’ Well, she
couldn’t, but she might as well have a stab at diverting the priest. She swallowed, inhaled deeply. ‘It’s so strange,’ she managed, ‘you and Anthony are unalike.
There’s the physical resemblance, of course, but you’re so much more sensible.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Father. I should not criticize your twin,
should I? Still, I’m sure you will keep my opinions to yourself.’

‘Of course.’

Bridie sighed dramatically. ‘My quarrels and differences with Anthony are my concern, not yours. But thank you for listening.’ With a tremendous effort, she reached out and touched
his sleeve. ‘Pray for me, Father Liam. I do so hate family quarrels. But Anthony is so . . . so inclined to interfere with my rearing of the girls. Of course, he does it out of kindness,
I’m sure, but these teachers are fond of lecturing, don’t you find?’

He did find, and he nodded his agreement.

They walked together towards Cherry Hinton, Bridie gabbling nervously about flowers and birds, then she excused herself and ran in to change. She felt sick, yet she continued up the stairs. Her
hand was dirty, because it had touched his arm. She scrubbed herself for five whole minutes before sitting down to think. Liam was not the only item on her mind. Cathy was sitting an exam. Bridie
had been soothed by the suggestion that Cathy might come to Sacred Heart not immediately, but in four years. The monster was in the house where her daughter’s future was being decided.

Liam dallied in the garden for a while. The Irishwoman and Anthony were at loggerheads, it seemed. The idea pleased him. Anthony deserved few friends, because he had rejected his own twin, had
accused him of all kinds of crimes.

Satisfied that his brother’s life was no bed of roses, Liam stepped into Cherry Hinton with a new spring in his step.

Cathy scribbled the last answer and placed her pencil on Aunt Edith’s desk. It was three-fifteen and she was supposed to linger here for another quarter of an hour.
Sister Ignatius was rattling her rosary and staring at Cathy over the tops of those silly half-spectacles. Outside, blackbirds sang and the sun shone while Cathy basked beneath the eagle scrutiny
of an extremely ugly nun with a three-haired wart. Noel skulked under the library table and Cathy didn’t blame him. Sister Ignatius was enough to strike fear in the heart of any dog, even one
as brave and uncomely as Cathy’s mongrel.

‘Would you like to check your answers?’ asked Sister Ignatius.

‘No, thank you.’ The test had been fairly easy. For the first few minutes, Cathy had been tempted to put down all the wrong answers, but she did not wish to appear stupid in front of
this tiny, hard-faced woman. Anyway, Mammy had promised that Cathy didn’t have to think about going to Sacred Heart until she was eleven. Four years was a tremendous length of time. Anything
could happen before Cathy reached the grand age of eleven.

‘Then you may go.’

Cathy leapt up and made for the door with Noel hard on her heels.

‘Have you nothing to say to me child? Normally, these examinations are held at the school. Because of my friendship with your aunt, I took the unprecedented step of interrupting the Easter
holidays to bring the mountain to Mohammed.’

Cathy had seen no mountains, and Sister Ignatius had travelled in Aunt Edith’s car, so the little girl failed to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Thank you for coming,
Mother,’ she said. ‘Come on, Noel.’ The dog shot like greased lightning across the room.

‘Very well. You may go.’ Sister Ignatius waited until child and dog had left, then she fetched the test paper from the bureau. She scanned the first couple of pages, assessed the
score. As expected, the child had achieved satisfactory marks in a test that was usually aimed at girls of ten or eleven years.

Edith appeared in the doorway. ‘How did it go, Sister?’

‘Caitlin O’Brien’s intelligence quotient is high. I shall work it out later, but she has an adult reading age and her comprehension is excellent. We shall probably offer her a
place. If she cannot take it up now for the kindergarten, we shall see her again at a later date. But she has passed the entrance hurdle.’

Edith smiled. Cathy was a clever girl. Now, all Edith had to do was court her away from Scotland Road. Sacred Heart was one of the best schools in the country. It could hold up its head with the
finest of them, and Edith wanted to be around when girls from so-called working class families started to attend universities. With any luck, there would be more scholarships soon and further help
from national and local governments. ‘We need female doctors, lawyers and the like from all walks,’ Edith told her friend. ‘Not just from the ranks of the rich.’

Sister Ignatius agreed wholeheartedly. ‘You find brains and stupidity in every class,’ she remarked. ‘And a school such as ours should cast its net wide to find the pick. That
girl is a case in point. She needs us, Edith.’

‘I know.’

The door opened and Liam Bell entered the room. He came to a dead stop when he saw the visitor, ran his eyes over the uncomely guest. ‘Ah. Good afternoon, Aunt Edith. Sister?’

‘Ignatius,’ replied the seated woman.