A man of honour, p.10
A Man of Honour, page 10
Sarah cleared her throat and took a step forward, saying as she did, ‘Won’t you come in for a cup of tea, Blackie? Seeing as the night ended early. And it’s turned cold.’
Finding her voice, Angela said, ‘Oh yes, do come in. Sarah’s right, the evening has grown cooler.’ She opened the door wider and stepped back as first Sarah and then Blackie entered the house.
Once Sarah had led him into the parlour, she drew her sister forward and said, ‘This is Blackie O’Neill, Angela. He volunteered to walk me home because it had grown so dark. Meet my sister, Blackie.’
Blackie stretched out his hand and Angela took it. Again they were staring at each other so intently, Sarah had to clear her throat several more times.
Swiftly, Angela let go of Blackie’s hand and moved away, saying as she walked across the floor, ‘I shall go and put the kettle on.’
Once they were alone, Blackie said, ‘I’ve never seen your sister around Upper Armley.’
‘Oh no, you wouldn’t. She lives on the other side of Hill Top, and she’s not often on Town Street.’
‘Doesn’t she live here with ye and your mother?’ Blackie asked, sounding puzzled.
‘No, she doesn’t. She moved out when she got married.’
Blackie felt as if he had been punched hard in the stomach and an unexpected wave of disappointment flooded over him.
‘Who is she married to?’ he managed to ask, his voice sounding hoarse to him.
‘Let’s sit down here near the fire,’ Sarah said. ‘She got married young, to Anthony Welles. He was in the Royal Navy, but sadly he got killed during the Boer War, in 1901. He was lost at sea. Angela is a widow.’
‘Oh, how terrible. ’Tis sorry I am to be hearing that. So young to be a widow,’ he said, startled by this news.
‘She’s twenty-four,’ Sarah told him. ‘But I know she doesn’t look it.’
‘Not at all,’ Blackie murmured, knowing he had filled with relief at Sarah’s words, although a hint of sadness flickered in his mind that she had lost her husband, and she so young.
He knew one other thing. He wanted this woman with a great fierceness that seemed to overwhelm him. And he meant to have her, whatever it took.
Nothing like this had ever happened to Blackie O’Neill before in his young life. His instant and intense attraction to Angela Welles had startled him. Now he sat rigid in the chair, as if frozen. His eyes never left the kitchen door and, when Sarah spoke to him, he paid no attention.
Sarah grabbed his arm. She said in a low but firm voice, ‘You’re in some sort of trance. Pull yourself together before my sister comes back.’ She tightened her grip on his arm, and finally he turned his head to look at her.
‘I’m not in a trance, I’m just taken aback, sure and I am. What man wouldn’t be, I be asking ye? Angela has … great beauty, Sarah.’
‘I know it. Now you do, and so does the entire world. At least, those who’ve met her do. Men are agog, just as you are. And women, and children, and dogs and horses. And even birds, I suppose.’
There had been laughter in Sarah’s voice as she had said these words, and Blackie couldn’t help chuckling. ‘In fact, she’s a genuine knockout, I be thinking. I stared at her, Sarah, and she stared back … our eyes met and held.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do ye think she would go to the dance hall, if I be inviting her?’
Sarah, looking shocked, shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh no, she’d never go there, not be seen dead there. If you ask her out, you’d have to take her out somewhere more elegant. Perhaps the theatre or the music hall. Or one of the nice restaurants. In Leeds.’
‘Oh, I see, well, I can do that, sure I can, on the heads of the Blessed Saints, I would.’
Although his prompt acceptance of this suggestion had surprised Sarah, she kept silent for a moment before asking, ‘Do you know any of them? What I mean is, are you familiar with any special restaurants in Leeds?’
‘The Cameo,’ Blackie replied instantly. ‘And I may be knowing they are expensive, Sarah, but I can afford it.’ This was the truth, since Blackie had his nest egg from being a navvy a few years ago, and from the bonuses he’d earned from his uncle. This was why he had not quailed when Sarah had mentioned restaurants. He saved his extra earnings, was in no way a spendthrift, knowing the power of money.
Before either of them spoke again, the kitchen door flew open, and Angela came into the room carrying a large tray.
Blackie sprang to his feet and rushed to take it from her.
Angela allowed him to do so, looking into his eyes. ‘I hadn’t realized how tall you are, Blackie, and strong.’
A faint pinkness flushed his face, but he made no comment, simply carried the tray over to the table in the corner of the room and put it down.
Angela followed him, saying to Sarah, ‘I thought you both might be hungry, so I made a few little tea sandwiches and sliced my sponge cake. Come on, join us.’ Looking at Blackie, she added, ‘Please sit down.’
As she seated herself, he sat down in the nearest chair, only to realize a moment later that he was facing her. There was nowhere else to look but at that extraordinary face.
‘It was kind of ye,’ Blackie murmured, suddenly feeling more confident about Angela. This was mainly because Sarah hadn’t discouraged him from asking her sister out, and also because Angela was gazing at him with a strange expression in her blue eyes. He wondered if it was the yearning which he himself was feeling.
Sarah got up, and said, ‘I need to go to my room for a hankie. I’ll be back in a tick.’ She hurried across the room.
Alone, Angela spoke first. ‘I know I’m staring at you, Blackie, but I just can’t help it. I know it’s rude of me … but you have such distinctive looks, I’ve never met anyone with such dark hair and eyes from Ireland—’
‘It’s not rude of ye,’ Blackie cut in. ‘I’m staring at ye in turn.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I am, well, I’m entranced by ye. Ye are beautiful.’ It was Angela’s turn to blush now and she glanced down while he continued to speak. ‘I would like to invite ye out, Angela. Out for a meal, somewhere elegant. We could go next Saturday.’
‘Oh, how lovely. But that’s very formal.’ There was a pause, and she leaned across the table and said, ‘I would like to invite you to supper next week. Nothing fancy, just a bite to eat, to get to know one another. Won’t you come to my house? I live just across from the Traveller’s Rest, the pub at Hill Top. Please say yes.’
‘I say yes to ye, Angela.’ I’ll say yes to anything ye want, he thought, filled with excitement by her invitation.
‘Which is the best night for you?’ Angela asked, sounding slightly breathless.
‘Wednesday would be possible, sure and it would, because I’ve finished me latest project and will be at me drawing board all day. What time do ye want me?’
Angela stared at him, seemingly transfixed for a moment, before she said, ‘I think about six o’clock, if that’s all right with your schedule.’
‘Indeed it is,’ he replied, his voice hoarse. ‘I think I know your house. It’s standing at the edge of the moor, and it has dark green shutters. Is that the one?’
She merely nodded and gave him a lovely smile, as she picked up the teapot and filled three cups.
Sarah arrived at the table and seated herself between them. As she looked at her sister and then at Blackie, noticing the unexpected ease which now existed between them, she smiled inwardly.
She had noticed the immediate attraction between them, the way their eyes had met. No one could have missed that pull between a man and a woman. How right she had been to leave them alone. She was happy for Angela. Her sister’s good taste and manners seemed to make it hard for her to meet the right kind of man. She had married up – her husband, Anthony Welles, had been from a good family from Harrogate and, after his aunt had died, he had inherited a small sum, just enough to buy them the little house. But he had loved the Royal Navy, having joined when he was seventeen.
And whilst Angela had put up a good front and decorated their house in perfect taste, she had been very lonely. Sailors at sea did not make good husbands. Also, there had been no children, and Sarah had often wondered about their relationship, the intimate side of their married life, and how much they really had loved each other.
Blackie would pay court to her, assuage her loneliness, put a spark back in her eyes again, Sarah decided, as she sipped her tea and listened to her sister chatting away to Blackie. She noticed the rapt expression on his face, the brightness in his eyes.
Angela was older than him; Sarah was well aware he was only seventeen. Laughter rose in her throat, but she pushed it back. What did age matter? It didn’t, as far as she was concerned.
Sarah, now twenty-one, was wise for her years, and she had a knack of sizing people up, understood what made them tick.
Blackie and Angela were attracted to each other and she knew both were good people. They were right for each other at this time in their lives, at least. The future? Who cared about that. Blackie wasn’t looking to get married. She wanted a bit of happiness for Angela now. And there was no doubt in her mind that Blackie O’Neill, the handsomest man she had ever met, would give her sister exactly what she wanted and needed. Certainly Angela’s terrible loneliness would be alleviated for a while with this charming Irishman.
Blackie was unable to fall asleep. He lay in his much-loved bed, staring up at the ceiling, seeing only her face. It was now imprinted on his brain.
It was a full moon floating high out there in the midnight-dark sky overflowing with stars. The moonlight filtered into the room; he did not need his little candle at this moment. Many thoughts went through his busy mind. Meeting Angela so unexpectedly, being stunned by her beauty, her manners, her refinement. She was unlike every woman he had met so far. He had not had a relationship; he had only danced with gauche local girls at the dance hall, some of them shy, some of them brash and pushy. He was the same way with them as he was with everyone: friendly, cheerful, always looking for the good in people. But in the years he’d been going to the dance hall, he had never met anyone like Angela.
He was a virgin, had never slept with a woman, and for a moment this worried him. Then he shoved the worry away. He desired Angela, wished to make love with her, possess her, be possessed by her. On the other hand, maybe she would not want to take their initial attraction to that conclusion. He would abide by her wishes.
He felt himself relax. He would be whoever she wanted him to be. That was the only way he knew. A gentleman. His uncle had drilled that into him: don’t force yourself on any woman; respect their wishes, and let them take the lead.
Blackie experienced a rush of sudden desire, thinking of Angela’s gentleness, and yet there was ardour behind this refined air. He had seen it in her eyes. He closed his own eyes, imagining her in his arms, and groaned with desire, aroused yet again for the third time since he had gone to bed.
He threw off the bedclothes, went and drew the curtains, cutting off the moonlight. Back in bed he let his thoughts drift, his mind going back to the earlier part of the evening when the girl Gwen had gone missing – the event that had led him to walk Sarah home and meet Angela. Whatever Sarah, Finn and Alf thought, he was not so accepting that she had gone off with some other young man. He could only hope he was wrong. Perhaps tomorrow the mystery would be solved. It was a funny world they lived in, a dangerous world.
EIGHTEEN
Finn arrived at Pat and Eileen Kennedy’s house for Sunday dinner exactly on time and, as he usually did, he had lots to tell. But in this instance, it was not gossip. It was news, and bad news, at that.
Blackie knew at once that Finn was aching to speak about something important, yet was polite enough to greet Uncle Patrick and Aunt Eileen first.
‘Welcome, Finn,’ Eileen said, appearing in the kitchen doorway, a bright smile on her face.
Patrick shook Finn’s proffered hand, also smiling, and then led Finn into the main room. ‘Nice to see you, my lad,’ Patrick said. ‘Come and sit with us.’
Blackie was standing in front of the fireplace, which was not blazing up the chimney today. It was a lovely warm June Sunday, and outside there was a bright blue sky and sunshine.
Stepping forward, Blackie gave Finn a friendly punch on the arm, and asked, ‘Would ye be liking a lemonade?’
‘Thanks, Blackie, I’d enjoy that.’ Turning to Patrick, he went on, ‘Thank you very much for inviting me for Sunday dinner. It’s my favourite, but I don’t get it very often. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.’
Patrick added, ‘It’s mine too, my lad, and Blackie’s, and you’re in for a treat. My wife’s a wonderful cook.’ Glancing behind him, and then stepping towards the kitchen, he asked, ‘Can I tell the lads what’s on the menu, love?’
Eileen came to the doorway. ‘Certainly you can,’ she answered, laughter echoing. Patrick announced, with something of a flourish, ‘First course will be a Yorkshire pudding, one each, served from oven to table as fast as possible, so it doesn’t sink. With gravy, of course. Main course is my favourite, a leg of lamb, with roasted potatoes, boiled greens and carrots. Gravy, as usual, and mint sauce to top it off.’
‘A feast indeed!’ Blackie cried and moved across the kitchen. ‘Do ye want lemonade, too, Uncle Pat?’
‘I will have a glass, please.’ Patrick took Finn to the sofa, where they sat together.
Patrick peered at Blackie’s best friend, and then frowned. ‘Do I detect worry in your eyes? Is something wrong, lad?’
Finn nodded. ‘I’ll wait for Blackie to come back, then I’ll tell ye, Mr Kennedy.’
Blackie heard this, and returned with the lemonade on a small tin tray.
Once they had their glasses in their hands, Blackie said, ‘Come on then, Finn, spill it! What’s wrong? I can see ye are troubled.’
After a quick sip of lemonade, Finn said in a low tone, ‘It’s about Gwen. She never went home last night. Alf came to tell me early on this morning, very edgy. Then he went back to get her mother. Mrs Turner was upset, crying and wailing. She and Alf had gone to the police station in Wortley Road. I expect they’re still at the station.’
Patrick exclaimed, ‘What are you saying, Finn? That Gwen has disappeared?’
Finn nodded. ‘In the blink of an eye.’
Blackie said, ‘Seemingly into thin air. Ye see, last night, when Alf went to pick her up from her house, to go to the dance hall, her mother explained she’d just left, gone on her own.’
‘I see. When the plan was they’d go together, is that it?’ Patrick asked.
‘That’s what Alf told us when he came to the dance hall, looking for her. He looked bothered,’ Finn explained.
Blackie interjected, ‘She was there at one moment, ’cos Sarah Clough saw her going to the ladies, then later Sarah had spotted her sitting on a bench drinking a lemonade.’ Blackie glanced at Finn. ‘And ye said, ye saw her leave, sure and ye told me that, and Sarah, too.’
‘When did Alf arrive?’ Patrick wondered aloud.
‘Mebbe ten minutes later. So they can’t have met outside, because they’d have come back into the dance hall,’ Finn pointed out.
‘True enough,’ Blackie said. ‘And when Alf came in alone, he said there was not one soul on Town Street and he’d have bumped into her if she’d been going home.’
‘I understand, and so what did Alf do after that?’
‘He said he’d go and look in the streets around Ridge Road,’ Finn told Patrick, pulling a face. ‘So we volunteered to go too.’
‘I see. And there was no sight of her, was there?’
‘No, Uncle Patrick, there was no one about last night. Empty streets. So we broke up. It was dark by then and I walked Sarah home.’ A deep sigh escaped Blackie and a grim expression settled on his face as he added, ‘’Tis a mystery to me, on the heads of the Blessed Saints it is, and it don’t bode well with me either. Something’s amiss here.’
Patrick stared at his nephew, a puzzled look crossing his face. ‘Are you suggesting some sort of foul play?’ he finally ventured, not liking the sound of this story at all. It alarmed him. And he was concerned about the lad who worked for him.
Blackie took a deep breath and plunged. ‘I can’t help thinking she was grabbed, taken.’
‘By a stranger?’ Patrick’s eyes bored into Blackie. ‘But Upper Armley is the safest place I know, and I travelled the world in the navy.’
‘How do ye knows it’s safe, Uncle? These days anything can happen … anywhere. Only last week I read in one of your newspapers that a girl had been taken in Harehills. Never seen again, body never was found. So far.’
‘I missed that story,’ Patrick replied, an undertone of worry in his voice. ‘Are you certain she was never found?’
‘Sure and I am, Uncle Pat. There are all sorts roaming the streets, weird people in our midst, and ye are the one allus telling me it’s a dangerous world we live in these days.’
‘Aye, that’s true, I am saying that and I mean it.’
Finn now volunteered, ‘There is one other thing, Blackie. Don’t ye remember Alf said they’d had that tiff the night before; also there was an idea passed around that she might have gone off with another lad.’
Blackie exclaimed, ‘That’s right! Alf mentioned that lad Ian Craig. Mebbe she’s all right. Mebbe she’s hooked up with him.’
‘So why didn’t she go home?’ Finn said. ‘Did she go back to his house? Is she still there?’
‘That don’t sound like Gwen. She is a nice girl, not a loose woman,’ Blackie murmured, and said no more as Aunt Eileen appeared in the main room, removing her pinafore.
She said, ‘Will you all come and get yer Yorkshire puddings, please.’
The three men rose, and Patrick said in a quiet voice, ‘No discussion about Gwen, lads. I don’t want Eileen to be upset.’
‘Quiet as two mice,’ Finn whispered.
