The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

name won’t you allow me to marry the man I love?’

      ‘Because you can’t be trusted to make an intelligent decision! You’d sooner bring disgrace on this family – a boot boy, for deuce’s sake!’ Ibbetson staggered as his daughter almost succeeded in pulling him off balance, Marty still clinging on for grim death, both almost ankle-deep in soil.

      ‘Boot boy no more since you kindly had me dismissed!’ panted Marty, grimacing with the effort of trying to hang on and reassuring Etta at the same time as informing her father, ‘But I didn’t stay down for long – I’m to be my own boss!’

      Etta might be impressed, but her father sneered. ‘If you think that entitles you to marry my daughter then think again! Now will someone remove this parasite from my land!’ With the assistance of footmen, a rebellious Marty was manipulated towards the exit.

      Jerked back and forth by the violent jig performed by the men, Etta felt his jacket ripped out of her hands and threw them up in a gesture of exasperation, declaring stubbornly, ‘You can forbid it all you like, but Martin will be back for me! Lock me in chains, but I’ll get out somehow!’

      ‘Like a bitch on heat!’ Spittle flew from her father’s lips to his beard, showing just how deranged she had made him and causing her mother to reel in shock, the servants too. ‘I wager he doesn’t know how many more there’ve been, queuing up for your favours. He wouldn’t be so keen then!’

      Etta gasped, could hardly speak from outrage. ‘And you’ve turned every one of them away! How dare you humiliate me in such a vile manner? What chance have I had to do such things of which you accuse me when I’m forever in thrall to you? I have no value to you other than to be bartered to some rich man, no matter how charmless or ugly, just so long as the union brings you more power!’

      This pulled him up slightly, but only to offer derision. ‘I don’t need some flibbertigibbet to imbue me with power! I’ve worked damned hard to build all this and I don’t intend to lose it to some Tom, Dick or Harry on whom you’ve conveyed your favours!’

      ‘Pybus, this is intolerable, I beg you, desist!’ entreated Mrs Ibbetson, a more genteel person altogether than her husband, braving his wrath to snatch at his arm and condemn him with a whisper. ‘It’s unforgivable that you address Henrietta like some common…she’s our daughter.’

      ‘And how many times I’ve wished she wasn’t!’ retorted Ibbetson, but his wife’s quiet rebuke had acted as a turning point. Wrenching himself free of Marty, he thrust the hapless youth into the arms of the servants who awaited the order to eject him. But their master signalled them to linger. Brushing and tugging his clothes into some semblance of order, only just able to control his fury, he issued his daughter with an ultimatum. ‘One last chance – and I’m being more than generous in the face of such wilful provocation. But first I shall have an honest answer: did this scoundrel at any time take advantage of you?’

      Etta toyed with the idea of saying yes – which would, in effect, mean that no other man would want her and she would be of no further use as a bargaining tool – but it would also spell another beating for Marty and she could not bear that. ‘You asked me once before. I told you that I intend to guard my honour until I marry. But, let me inform you, Father, I would die before I wed a man of your choosing. This man here, whom you have so cruelly handled, he is the only one I shall marry!’ She went to Marty’s side and clung to him.

      Driven to distraction by this girl who, since babyhood, had never done as she was bidden, Ibbetson ranted, ‘You imbecile, he’s only after your wealth, can’t you see?’

      ‘What wealth?’ Etta reflected her father’s exasperation, her face pink and her hair tousled from the fray. ‘I have none, other than that which you deign to bestow!’

      Ibbetson clutched his scalp and gave a delirious moan as if trying to understand how all this had come to pass. How could she depict him as such an ogre, after all he had given her? He got on well with his son John, didn’t he? Tremendously in fact, for John had never repaid his generosity and advice with ingratitude or confronted him at every turn of the way, as had this chit here, but gave him all the admiration that was due. Etta seemed only to want to hurl it back in his face, the ultimate display of that ingratitude being here and now in her choice of husband, this damned upstart, this lowest of the low.

      A lethal expression on his face, he made as if to grab Marty again, but Etta’s mother intervened with a shriek. ‘Pybus, must you resort to murder? For nothing short of it will stop them. They are determined to wed.’

      It was an unusually brave move for Isabella Ibbetson, who had allowed herself to be passed mutely from an overbearing father to a domineering husband, and, having learned how spitefully childish Pybus could be if not exalted as the font of all wisdom, preferred to buckle under for the sake of a quiet life. Her prayers that Etta would take this example had been unanswered, but she loved her wilful daughter, empathised with her reluctance to be bartered, and, even if it might be too late, sought to fight her corner now.

      Marty saw the mother properly for the first time now, a striking woman with dark looks, and threw her a look of gratitude for her support, though it quickly became evident that she had not an ounce of Etta’s staying power.

      Receiving a glare for her disobedience, Mrs Ibbetson sighed and meekly stepped aside for her husband to do his worst. But at least he seemed to have taken her remark to heart. Confining any further violence to his voice, he barked at Etta whilst addressing her via his wife. ‘Very well! The unmanageable baggage wants her own way, and she shall have it.’

      Thinking there was some trick, Etta did not move, scraping away the hair that was clinging to her glistening brow and exchanging looks with Marty.

      But her father said again, directly this time, ‘Off you go then! If that’s the way you want to repay everything that’s been lavished on you, there’s no point in dallying. After all, what use are you to me if you won’t do as you’re bidden?’

      Still she was hesitant. ‘With your blessing?’

      ‘Blessing be damned! I hope you both rot in eternal damnation!’

      Galvanised into action, she replied hotly, ‘As you wish, Father! Blanche, go and pack – you shall come with me, of course.’

      An admiring Blanche made to accompany her to the house but the master blocked their progress. ‘She shall not! The servants are my property, and I didn’t buy you those clothes so you could pawn them to subsidise your fancyman.’

      Alternating between relief and anger, Marty rejoined tersely, ‘I can support my own wife, Mr Ibbetson, we need none of your help.’

      ‘Splendid! Because you won’t get it. You!’ He jerked his head at Blanche. ‘Back to the house, unless you want to forfeit your livelihood.’

      ‘Don’t treat her like a chattel, she’s a human being – Blanche, stand your ground!’

      But, recognising the futility of siding with Etta, the maid instantly complied with her employer’s demand.

      ‘Now let’s see how keen you are to take her on, Mr…whatever your name is.’

      ‘Lanegan,’ provided Marty through gritted teeth.

      ‘Hah! I thought I detected a touch of the bog-trotter. I suppose you’re a damned Roman Catholic into the bargain, aren’t you?’

      ‘I am.’ Marty was defiant, though he rarely went to church and neither did his parents.

      ‘Didn’t know that, did you?’ Ibbetson took delight in the look of slight surprise on his daughter’s face.

      ‘Martin’s religion has no bearing on anything.’ Etta became haughty.

      Ibbetson gave a nasty laugh. ‘Let’s see what bearing it has when he lands you with a brat every year!’ His tone lightened. ‘But if you still want him badly enough I’ll allow you to walk out of here with the clothes you stand up in, which is more than you deserve. I wouldn’t like to