Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [4]
Dr Gillespie had given their mother a draught to make her sleep because she’d been hysterical, pulling at her hair and screaming that someone else must have strung Frank up, for he would never have chosen to leave her. While both children knew it was impossible for anyone else to have had a hand in tonight’s work, they shared her sentiments. Their parents had been loving and happy.
‘The doctor asked me if the business was in difficulties,’ Sam said, his voice strained with bewilderment. ‘But it wasn’t. I can’t even think of anything unusual happening in the past weeks that might account for it.’
‘Could it have been a customer who upset him?’ Beth asked.
There were difficult and unpleasant customers sometimes. They complained if Father couldn’t make their shoes or boots as quickly as they wanted them, and often when they arrived to pick them up they tried to find fault with his workmanship so they could beat him down in price.
‘He would have said. Anyway, you know he took all that in his stride.’
‘You don’t think it was us, do you?’ Beth asked anxiously. ‘Me complaining that I was bored at home, and you always slipping off to the docks?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I heard him laughing about me once with a customer. He said I was a good lad, even if my head was in the clouds. And you certainly hadn’t upset him; he was proud of you.’
‘But how are we going to live now?’ Beth asked. ‘You aren’t experienced enough to keep the shop going!’
It was often remarked on how different Beth and Sam were. Not just their looks, one tall and blond, the other small and dark — their natures were quite different too.
Sam’s head was always in the clouds, living in a dream world of fantastic adventures, riches and exotic places. One day he could be wasting time down by the docks gazing wistfully at the ocean-going ships; another he could be peering through gates of big houses, marvelling at the way the wealthy lived. Although he had never admitted it to Beth, she knew the real reason he didn’t want to be a cobbler or shoemaker was because no one became rich or had adventures that way.
Beth was far more practical and logical than her brother, thorough and diligent when she was given a task to do. She had sharper wits, and read books to gain knowledge rather than to escape reality. Yet she could understand why Sam lived in a fantasy world, because she had her fantasy too, of playing her fiddle to a huge audience and hearing rapturous applause.
It was of course an unattainable dream. Even if she had been taught to play classical violin, she’d never seen a female violinist in an orchestra. She played jigs and reels, tunes passed down from her grandfather, and most people considered that was gypsy music, suitable only for entertainment in rowdy ale houses.
Yet for all the differences between Beth and Sam, they were very close. With only a year between them, and having never been allowed to play in the street like other children in the neighbourhood, they’d always relied on each other for companionship.
Sam got up from his chair and knelt beside Beth, putting his arms around her. ‘I’ll take care of both of you, somehow,’ he said with a break in his voice.
In the days that followed, Beth’s emotions see-sawed between overwhelming grief and rage. She had never known one day without her father; he had been as constant as the grandfather clock chiming away the hours. A wiry man of forty-five with thinning grey hair, a carefully trimmed moustache and a rather prominent nose, he was always cheery and, she thought, transparent.
He might not have been overly demonstrative — a pat on the shoulder was his way of showing affection and approval — but he had never been a distant figure like so many fathers were. He liked her to come down to the shop and chat while he was working; he had always been interested in what she was reading, and her music.
But now she felt she hadn’t really known him. How could he come up to the kitchen for his tea and sit with his wife and daughter while all the time he was intending to