Colours of the Dance

J. Pepper E.

Description

Rule 1: When you're dancing, shoulders back and point your toes. Rule 2: Keep your thumbs clear when you're chopping vegetables.Rule 3: Don't go wandering through the house without permission.But who can make any sense of Home Rule? Ten-year old Brede asks herself. Homeless and destitute, she and her Aunt Kate are employed as the only Catholics in the household of the beautiful spendthrift Adelina Thompson and her bullying husband, Alexander. But what is it that Brede sees that forces her to flee with her aunt in terror?Taken into the household of William Henderson, a Protestant supporter of Irish Home Rule, Brede is the mute and uncomprehending witness to the unfolding political and personal events, and to a love affair that will culminate in murder.'Set in 19th century Ulster, the way the child narrator views the world during one of the most troubled periods in Irish history is shared with us in an original and enthralling account.' First Novel Prize

Sujets

• Historical fiction
• Ulster

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 11 octobre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838597054
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2019 E. J. Pepper

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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For all my lovely Irish friends,
of every persuasion and none


Contents
Acknowledgements

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five

Historical Note
Footnote
About the Author


Acknowledgements
A big thank you to all those who have given me their time and expertise, especially:
Linda Anderson, whose unflagging enthusiasm helped keep me going.
Talented fellow writer, Sarah Hegarty, for her invaluable suggestions.
The M. A. Creative Writing course at Chichester University, particularly Alison MacLeod for her wonderful and generous insights.
Lorena Goldsmith and Robin Wade, judges of the First Novel Prize, for believing in the book.
Sue Rawlings for her helpful feedback. Also readers Ann Davies and Sally Lomax.
Juliet Mitchell and the Arvon Foundation.
Mary-Jane Holmes for her useful suggestions regarding the opening chapters.
The team at Troubador for their expert guidance.
Last, but by no means least, Andrew - for his constant love and support.


One
‘Tell the girl to keep her feet still! That’s a good turkey rug.’
The voice is a reed brushing my skin – soft, but with a spike at the end of it.
I was practising my steps in my head, but when I look down, I see the mat is all wrinkled up, the way the pastry went when I helped roll it out.
Kate gives me a shove, so hard that I nearly fall onto the floor. Then she stoops down and straightens the mat. I can see why the lady likes it so well. It has all different colours to it – reds and orange and yellows and green. They come floating up at me, like a clump of wild flowers.
Kate seizes my hand again, and we step back onto the mat and stand, waiting.
The lady sits in a big chair, the light from the fire shining on her silky hair. Even from where I’m standing, I can see that she’s lovely looking, with creamy skin and big eyes. In her hand is the smallest teacup I’ve ever seen. It has a pattern of leaves on it. I take a step forward to see what kind they are, but Kate pulls me back.
The lady gazes across at us. For a moment, her face has a puzzled look, as if she’s forgotten we’re in the room.
‘So, you have no family in the area?’ she says.
‘My parents and the rest of them were took by the sickness,’ Kate says. ‘All in this twelve months past.’
‘And the child is your bastard?’
‘Indeed she is not.’ Kate’s voice has a wobble to it. I reach for her hand again, but she slaps it away. ‘She was my sister’s.’
‘I’ve heard that before.’ The lady sighs. ‘It’s very tiresome. The last girl I saw had her bawling infant with her, and the one before that wasn’t fit to lift a cushion.’
‘I’m not afraid of hard work.’
‘That’s as may be. And you’re how old?’
‘Twenty-four, Missus.’
‘And the child?’
‘About ten years – but I’m not sure.’
‘Of the work? Or the brat’s age?’
I can feel Kate all of a tremble beside me. ‘I learned how to cook in our last place,’ she says, ‘and I’m quick to learn.’
‘That’s all very well, but it doesn’t take away from the fact you’ve no Testy Moan Yals.’
‘That house had the sickness too, so they had to let us go,’ Kate says. ‘I’m willing to try anything.’
The lady lifts the teacup to her mouth, and takes a swallow. Then she puts the cup down again. ‘The last thing I want is to have to mollycoddle you or your child.’
‘I’ll see she causes no trouble. And when we’re settled, you’ll have an extra helper.’
‘And an extra mouth to feed.’ The lady sighs again.
‘I’d work for nothing, Missus. If we could just have our board and keep.’ Kate draws in her breath. ‘I’ve heard it said that the Prod girls take time off to visit their families. So you’d have no worries on that score.’
The lady leans forward. ‘You’re not telling me you’re Carth Lick? The Advert Eyes Ment states quite plainly Prods only.’
‘ Please , Missus. Give me a chance. I promise I’ll not let you down.’
The lady holds up her hand. ‘Just a moment. I need to think.’ She sits, staring ahead of her.
In the silence, my belly gives a great rumble. Kate glares at me, but it’s not my fault we had just the one piece of bread for our breakfast, and that was a good while ago.
I stare about me because this is the grandest house I’ve seen in my whole life. At the lady’s elbow is a round table with a tray of tea things on it. The pot and jug have the same green leaves as the teacup. There’s blue tiles round the fireplace, and the chairs have patterned covers, as if they’ve had their best frocks put on them. But best of all, facing us is a big looking-glass with a gold frame round it. I stand on my tiptoes so I can see into it, but Kate pulls on my arm.
After a while, the lady looks across at us again, and her lips are curled upwards. But it’s not a smile for us – it’s as if she’s had a different thought to please her. ‘Very well,’ she says. ‘It’s risky, but we’ll give it a go . A week’s trial only. Your hours will be from six in the morning until ten at night. You’ll have your food and a bed, and one Sunday afternoon a month off, unless I say otherwise. How would that suit?’
‘Oh, thank you, Missus. It would suit very well indeed.’ Kate takes a step forward, but the lady puts a handkerchief to her nose.
‘Stand over there, would you.’ She points to the corner by the door, so we step off the mat and move to where she says. Then she picks up a small bell and swings it backwards and forwards. The sound it makes is like the trickle of water. There are steps outside, and the door opens. A stout kind of a woman comes in.
‘You rang, Missus Thompson?’
She’s dressed in dark clothing, with a white apron over the top. She has a long, thin nose and grey, wispy hair that sticks out from under her cap.
‘There you are, Nellie. How many times do I have to tell you to curtsey when you enter a room?’
From the way the woman dips her knees, I can tell that she’s not a great one for the dancing.
‘That’s better. Now, did you get those errands?’
‘I did indeed. Carrigans were clean out of butter, so I had to go to McDaids. Your sister, Missus Clarke, was in there, and she said to tell you that she and the children are fully recovered from the chicken pox.’
‘Poor Nora.’ The lady smiles. ‘Is her face much marked?’
‘It is. Though, God willing, the scars will fade with time.’
‘Perhaps. Now, Nellie, I’ve a nice surprise for you.’
She steps forward. ‘Yes, Missus Thompson?’
‘You’ve been complaining long enough that you need more help about the place.’ She waves a hand at us. ‘So here it is.’
The woman turns. She has a face on her like a month of wet Sundays. ‘But would you look at the state of them. Threadbare clothes, and covered in mud. And the smell!’
‘Nothing that soap and water won’t fix.’
‘And Mister Thompson? What’s he going to say?’
‘Need I keep reminding you, Nellie, that I am the one running this household?’ The spiky bit is back in her voice. ‘Now, take these two through to the scullery, and see they get cleaned up. You’ll find spare clothing in one of the closets.’
The woman sniffs, and moves to the door.
I wait for Kate to follow, but instead she lifts her skirts on either side of her, and gives a curtsey. ‘I promise you’ll not regret your decision, Missus Thompson.’
The lady’s lips curl upwards again. ‘Well, we’ll see. Now, go with Nellie, and remember to do as she asks.’
‘Certainly, Missus Thompson.’
We’re almost out of the door when the lady calls after us, ‘Oh, I forgot. What’s your name again?’
‘Kathleen O’Hagan, Missus Thompson, but people call me Kate.’
‘And your daughter?’
‘My niece here is Brede.’
The lady leans forward. ‘So, Brede, I trust you’re a hard worker too.’
I look down at the floor.
‘I’m afraid you’ll not get a word out of her,’ Kate says.
‘No matter. I like a quiet child.’ She waves her hand. ‘Well, off you go, then.’
Kate moves away, but I stand just where I am, looking across at that mat. Because what I’d like best in all the world is to lie myself down in the middle of it, pull the edges around me and clos