Blackie always told the truth.
Dissimulation was not in his nature, and he always kept a promise.
At least until recently.
Now, on this cold Saturday in early February 1904, he pondered the fact that he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Laura. He had hidden a secret from her, and it was beginning to bother him.
The two of them were sitting in front of her fire, drinking tea and munching on ginger biscuits. Laura had lit a couple of lamps, and the kitchen had a cosy feeling, as the sky outside grew darker, and dusk descended even though it was only late afternoon.
Laura cut into his thoughts when she said, ‘I like this time of day. The gloaming, my grandmother used to call it, but most people think of it as twilight.’
‘I’ve never heard that word before – the gloaming,’ Blackie murmured, gazing at her, his affection reflected in his black eyes.
‘I think it might be Scottish,’ Laura replied. ‘Anyway, whatever it’s called I like this hour.’ She cleared her throat and, changing the subject, she said, ‘You’ve worked so hard on your drawings of the rooms today, have you nearly finished?’
‘I am finished!’ Blackie exclaimed, a wide smile settling on his face. ‘When I put me pencil down half an hour ago, they were done. Thank ye for letting me work on your table, love, it really helped, ’cos I could spread out the papers, sure and I could. Faith, and I’m grateful to ye, lass.’
‘It’s my pleasure, Blackie. So will you be going to Harrogate next week?’ she then asked, filled with curiosity about his plans.
‘I aim to go and see Lord Robert, to show him these interiors, but I’d be going anyhow, to see how Uncle Pat’s been faring with me builders. The structure was up, I told ye that, and when I saw it, I knew I’d picked the right spot for the guesthouse. I think I told ye I’d decided to move the guesthouse in front of that there copse of trees, and I was right. They make a nice backdrop, and they’ll add shelter in the bad weather, shade in the summer.’
Always impressed by Blackie, admiring of his ideas and his understanding of architecture, Laura said, ‘You’re so clever the way you do things – and how you taught yourself to build houses, I’ll never know. And this is truly such a wonderful opportunity for you.’
‘Well, I did go to night school, ye knows that, but I think I just knows how to design buildings, sort of naturally, I suppose.’
‘You were born with a gift,’ Laura said with her quiet authority. ‘Of that I’m certain.’
‘Perhaps ye are right. And I’d say ye have a gift for sewing. That was a lovely piece ye were putting lace on. What is it ye are making, love?’
‘A nightgown. I was given the lace, so I’m making something special with it.’ She paused, smiled shyly at him, and added, ‘Perhaps it’ll be for my Bottom Drawer.’
Blackie stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘What do ye mean when ye say bottom drawer, as if it’s something special?’
‘Well, it is. Every young woman who hopes to get married starts a Bottom Drawer, to put things in for her wedding, like nightgowns, petticoats, tablecloths, that sort of thing. Items women make to take with them into a marriage. I suppose it’s a tradition, a custom. Anyway, this lace is too pretty for everyday, so perhaps I’ll make a start, if it’s not tempting fate.’
‘Fancy that … I’ve never heard of it,’ Blackie answered. ‘But I do see how practical it is.’ Putting down his tea, he leaned forward, and focusing his eyes on her, he said, ‘I’ve a confession to make to ye, love.’
Laura sat up straighter, a look of alarm settling on her face. ‘What kind of confession?’ she asked, her voice suddenly worried.
‘I kept a secret from ye, lass, and it was real stupid of me, faith and it was. So now I shall tell ye. Is that all right?’
Laura simply nodded, wondering what on earth he had been keeping from her. Could it be another woman? She hoped not. She sat rather tensely in the chair, expecting the worst.
Blackie said in a quiet tone, ‘I took a job once, some time ago, and it was only for the money. Ye see, I wanted to build me nest egg, and I couldn’t resist the offer. It were ten shillings a day, and—’
‘But there’s nothing wrong with that,’ Laura interrupted, filling with relief.
‘No, there wasn’t,’ Blackie said. ‘Let me just tell ye, Laura, and don’t interrupt me, or it’ll never get told.’ He stared at her intently.
She nodded and sat back in her chair, remained silent.
Blackie commenced. ‘The money meant everything. But the hours were difficult, hard to keep from dawn ’til dusk. The job had to be rushed to meet the deadline, so the manager of the building came to me. He said, “In at four o’clock every morning, and finish at five o’clock. Five other builders to help ye. Ye’ll be the foreman and ye’ll live in lodgings in Leeds. No time for travelling home.”’
Blackie paused, took a sip of tea and went on with his story. ‘All that was no problem for me. I’m strong, long hours don’t bother me. But the lodging house did. It was in the Bank, the Ham Shank. The most dangerous place there is in Leeds. Still an’ all, I risked it. I wanted the work – it were good building experience, more than Uncle Pat could offer at the time. And for the money, ye see. Work building the last top floor. An office building it were, near Briggate. And tough to do, but we made it.’
Again, Blackie paused and, as Laura started to speak, he held up his hand. ‘Not quite finished yet, love. I lied to Uncle Pat. I didn’t dare tell him about the job, and living in the Ham Shank, so I told him I had a chance to go to London, to stay with Tommy O’Hara, my old friend from Ireland. A little break from work, a short holiday, and he agreed. Ye see, I knew Tommy had gone back to Galway to see his sister, so I was safe … in lying, I mean.’
Blackie let out a long sigh. ‘I never did confide in Uncle Pat, not to this day, not even when we went there to fetch Moira out. But oddly, keeping this secret from ye has been troubling me, Laura.’
‘I’m glad you told me, and I do understand why you wanted to make so much money. It was great temptation. Still, the Ham Shank is known to be a very dangerous place. People get killed in there for no reason at all, so I’ve heard.’
‘Aye, they do, and I were lucky, but I had me own little gang, ye knows, five other strong men. We went in and out together, faith, and we weren’t harmed.’ He finally sat back, relieved to have spoken out to her.
‘I’m glad you’ve told me,’ Laura said, her voice full of warmth, a sympathetic look on her face. ‘And I will keep your secret. It’s safe with me. I told you the other day that you can trust me. Always.’
‘I knows that, love. The thing is, I still don’t want to tell Uncle Pat …’ His voice trailed off, and Blackie gave her a helpless look. ‘I just can’t.’
Laura looked thoughtful. He knew she was a Roman Catholic, the same as he had been brought up, and Blackie thought she might tell him to go to confession. Even though she knew he had lost his faith. He waited, then she said, ‘There is no reason to tell your uncle. It happened some time ago, so leave it alone. You’ve unburdened yourself to me, and you’ll see, you’ll feel better in no time at all. Best to keep quiet, Blackie. Your actions were in the past. Bury them.’
‘Thanks, Laura. I shall take your advice, so I shall.’
‘I’m glad, Blackie. Telling your uncle now wouldn’t do any good; it would only upset him. Can I now ask you a question?’
‘Of course ye can, mavourneen. Ask away.’
‘Thank you, Blackie,’ she said in the same determined voice. ‘You’re a lapsed Catholic because of your awful childhood, aren’t you?’
Blackie looked at her, momentarily taken aback by her comment. But then she really did understand him and who he was.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘There was no God around to help me when I was a child. I had Cook, though, and women like Mrs O’Malley. It was them who came to my aid. Not God. So it’s them that are meaningful. I’ve no idea if God even exists.’
Laura was stupefied by his comments and had no words to answer him.
Blackie could see them ahead, standing at the edge of the lake, and, as he drew closer, everything clicked together in his head and made sense.
He smiled to himself. Now he knew who Moira Aherne reminded him of … Lord Robert Lassiter. Their colouring was different, but Moira had his chiselled features, slender nose, and they both had dimples in their chins. The family resemblance was clear as crystal, and especially when they laughed.
He suddenly felt a bit chuffed with himself. He had been right when he had spotted how different she was to them, and on their very first meeting. He had known she was an aristocrat, even though she had been sent to the Ham Shank, and then worked for Mrs Wilson as a maid. Breeding was hard to hide, he thought, as he crossed the lawn. It stood out like a sore thumb, or rather like elegance, he corrected himself.
Lord Robert turned to look at him, and said, ‘Morning, O’Neill.’
‘Good morning, Your Lordship.’ Staring at Moira, he nodded, and went on, ‘Hello, Miss Moira, nice to see ye.’
‘Likewise, Blackie. I think your guesthouse is starting to take shape.’ As Moira Aherne spoke, she was looking towards the copse of trees at the other end of the lawn. ‘You’re building a charming house, and it’s in a perfect spot.’ She spoke with a quiet confidence, returned to her rightful position in the world by the patronage of the Earl. She stood beside Robert, dressed in a luxurious soft tweed suit and polished brown boots, her pale hair pinned up under a fashionable hat.
‘Thank ye,’ he said, smiling. The building had really come on in the last few months, and he was glad Lord Robert had approved the change in position. He turned to address Lord Robert. ‘I’ve brought all the drawings for the interiors, m’lord. They’re on the dining-room table, and I wondered if we could go through them. If I’m not disturbing ye.’
‘Excellent idea, Blackie. Let us go up to the house, and dig in.’ Glancing at Moira, he said, ‘If you will excuse me, my dear, I have work to do with O’Neill here. But Adrian is in the study with my old friend Harry Peterson, who arrived for a visit late last night. I’m sure they would appreciate your company.’
‘I shall go and join them, Robert. See you later for lunch.’
Once Robert had removed the two silver candelabra and put them on the sideboard, Blackie spread the large sheets of paper across the table.
Slowly, Blackie walked him through the sketches of the rooms in the guesthouse, starting with the two sitting rooms at the back of the house, facing the lawns.
‘I decided to reduce the sitting rooms, m’lord. I think two work well enough. Do ye agree, Lord Robert?’
‘I do indeed. Good decision on your part, Blackie. And I do like these rooms … tall windows, each room with a fireplace, and I notice you’ve sketched in sofas and chairs. Excellent. Easy for me to visualize. You’ve done truly great work. The builders have made good progress over the past few months.’
‘Yes, and me uncle is doing very well as the foreman.’ Blackie cleared his throat, then said, ‘I just want to remind ye that I won’t be here next week, Your Lordship. At the beginning of this project, I did explain I had to be at Fairley Hall sometime in February. My uncle promised Squire Fairley that I’d take care of the job, as I’m the best one to do the stonework on the chimneys and other bits and pieces that they need.’
‘Ah, yes, I do recall that, O’Neill. Very honourable of you to inform me, and, of course, to keep your commitment to Squire Fairley. I believe you said your uncle would be here in your place again. That is fine with me. He’s excellent, good with the men. So, we will continue, and I will await your return. And thank you again for your dedication, O’Neill.’
‘It is my pleasure, Your Lordship.’
Lord Robert went into his library and strode over to his desk. He had many papers to deal with, but ignored them and sat back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. He was impressed by Blackie O’Neill, admiring the young lad’s talents. Mostly self-taught, he was growing into a clever draughtsman and builder. A good lad to have working for him. No, not a lad, not any more.
Robert sighed. At eighteen, our young men are old enough to be sent to the front to fight in a war when necessary. That’s what they always did – send their young to die in foreign fields. Cannon fodder, he muttered to himself. But it was the young who were fit, energetic and enthusiastic; they wanted to go and vanquish the enemy, joyful in their mission.
‘Well, thank God, there are no wars at the moment,’ Robert said out loud to the empty library.
There had been none since the Boer War, and the whole world was at peace for once. But for how long? he asked himself.
There was always one bugger who wanted to invade another country, seeking power, money and so-called glory. But, it seemed to him, there were none of those devils around at the moment. I pray to God this gentle peace lasts, Robert thought, getting up and going to the circular table near the fireplace. There were newspapers and magazines on it, and a book about the Boer War. He picked it up, took it over to the bookshelves and put it back in its place. His eyes caught another history book, one about Wellington, who had defeated the Emperor Napoleon in the little Belgian town, Waterloo, in 1815. He had enjoyed reading it. Taking it out, placing it on the table, he would give it to O’Neill later. He was well aware Blackie liked reading about great achievers.
Leaving the library, Lord Robert strolled down to his study to join Adrian, Moira and Harry Peterson, who had worries about his newly acquired Cézanne. This did not surprise Robert at all.
His eyes rested for a moment on Moira. He thought of her like a niece. Her position in polite society was less assured than most of his family, her illegitimacy an open secret, but with his backing and her inheritance, he knew she would be accepted in London society.
She would need a chaperone, and he would sponsor her, so that she would never again need to run to strangers for help.