An Irish Hostage

by Charles Todd

He considered me, clearly weighing up my value in the marriage market and the fact that I was still single. I felt my face warm, as if I’d flushed. But it was anger, no maidenly blush at my failure to find a husband. I quickly looked down at my hands, folded in my lap, so that he wouldn’t take note of whatever spark might have been there in my eyes. And so I didn’t see what conclusions he might have drawn about my eligibility.

  “Religious affiliation?”

  Frowning, I said, “I expect it would be Protestant. I don’t often have the opportunity to attend services. Of course we do have a chaplain in the clinic.”

  I was beginning to heartily dislike this rude man.

  And I now had a file in the records of the Irish police.

  Apparently satisfied about me, he asked, “Tell me about this dead man.”

  “There’s little to tell. I’d only just arrived that morning, and except for Miss Flynn, I knew no one here. I’d never seen the man before. When I reached the mole, I could tell that he was dead, beyond my help. And then Father O’Halloran was there and gave him last rites before he was moved to the pub.”

  “I’ve been told that Terrence Flynn identified him.”

  “The name he gave meant nothing to me, I’m afraid.”

  “Were they friends, Flynn and this dead man?”

  Careful, Bess, I warned myself. “I have no idea.”

  “Did the man drown?”

  “I couldn’t say. It’s always possible that he hit his head, fell into the water, and was unable to save himself. It’s also possible that he was dead from the injury, before he fell in. It would depend on what his lungs could tell us. Unfortunately, I couldn’t look at them.”

  “Why did you decide to go down to the harbor? A stranger, as you said?”

  “I was asked to. I learned afterward that there’s no doctor in the village.”

  “But you went to the pub, when the body was taken there.”

  “The light was fading. I was hoping to learn more when I could see him better. Sadly, a closer look didn’t tell me anything new. And so I came back to the house, leaving the men who had gathered there to see to the body.”

  He considered me again, as if hoping to find a flaw my statement. Then he closed his notebook, put away his pencil.

  “How long will you be in Ireland?”

  “I was only given enough leave to come to a wedding. When that is over, I’m expected to return to my duties.”

  “Without a bridegroom, it isn’t likely that there will be a wedding.”

  “I’m told there are men still searching for him.”

  “Did you know the groom in France?”

  “As far as I know, I’ve never encountered him there. But then I won’t be able to tell until I meet him. I’ve treated hundreds of men, you see, and after a while, their faces are a blur. All I really notice is the wound before me on the table, and what I can do about it.”

  “Did you come to Ireland under cover of the wedding, to see Mr. Kennedy? Is that why he was killed, before you could meet him?”

  I replied as coldly as I could, “I came for a wedding. I know nothing about Irish affairs, nor do I wish to know. Nursing Sisters are not used as spies.”

  He retorted, “I believe Nurse Cavell was shot by the Germans for spying.”

  I stared him in the face. “You are misinformed, sir. Edith Cavell was shot for helping English prisoners of war escape. To my knowledge there are no English prisoners of war in Killeighbeg.”

  Immediately I wished I’d held my tongue.

  But he rose and said, “It would be best if you stayed in Ireland as long as these matters are unresolved. You may be needed to give your evidence at an inquest.”

  It was a warning.

  “Yes, of course,” I answered, and he left me sitting there in the parlor. I heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  Eileen slipped quietly into the room from the kitchen, glancing anxiously over her shoulder as she carefully shut the door.

  Crossing to where I was sitting, she asked, “What did he say to you, Bess? Anything at all about Michael? Does he know where Michael is?”

  “Should he?” I wasn’t sure just how the Constabulary worked. If they had been called in officially or if his disappearance was still being treated as a local matter. Even though there wasn’t a village Constable.

  “Oh, God, someone must know.”

  “He only asked questions about the man who had drowned. And why I had come to Ireland.”

  Absently biting her lip, she considered that. “Terrence didn’t want to bring Michael to the attention of anyone outside Killeighbeg.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that someone had already told the Constable about the missing man.

  A little after lunch, Eileen said, “My mother would like to meet you. She doesn’t come downstairs very often. Would you mind going up to her room?”

  “I would be happy to go to her. Of course I would.”

  But we climbed the back stairs, as if to keep our visit from Granny.

  Mrs. Flynn’s room was on the back of the house, the opposite corner from Eileen’s. It was smaller, got the afternoon sun instead of the morning, and was crowded with furnishings. I gathered she had brought a lot of her favorite pieces with her when she had changed rooms with Eileen after her husband’s death. They shone with love and polish.

  I don’t know quite what I’d expected—a quiet mouse, someone thoroughly intimidated by the elder Mrs. Flynn. A reclusive woman living in the past . . .

  The woman who rose from her chair by the window was very attractive still, her dark hair drawn back to the nape of her neck, showing off an almost cameo-like profile—straight nose, lovely cheekbones, and a firm chin. She was wearing the black of widowhood, but the dress was beautifully made, with black lace at her wrists and throat.

  Holding out a slim hand, she said in a pleasant voice, “It’s lovely to meet you at last, Sister Crawford! I owe you my daughter’s life and happiness. It is a debt I can never fully repay.”

  “She would have done as much for me, Mrs. Flynn. The Sisters aboard Britannic were well trained.”

  “Nevertheless, Bess—may I call you Bess?—nevertheless, I shall keep you in my prayers. Now come and sit by me, and tell me about yourself.”

  I did as she asked, skimming lightly over my past, keeping to the account I’d given the Constabulary.

  “Was the training as rigorous as Eileen told us?” She smiled at her daughter.

  We talked about that and about France, and dealing with ugly wounds, and then about Michael, and how much she hoped the wedding would take place as planned.

  “Because I can’t think why such a thing happened. It’s cruel. I’ve told Terrence that I’ll hold him personally responsible if Michael isn’t back in time.”

  That was the first sign that she was out of touch with what was going on around us here in this divided house.

  “I’m sure he’s doing everything he possibly can,” I assured her, not needing the frown of warning I’d got from Eileen.

  We talked a little longer, and I could see that Mrs. Flynn was tiring.

  Eileen rose, saying, “It’s time to be thinking about Granny’s afternoon tea. I’ll bring Bess to visit again soon, shall I?”

  “Yes, darling, please do.” She gave me her hand again, and I told her how happy I was to meet her. And then we were on our way down the stairs.

  “She’s lived in Granny’s shadow for so long, it’s taken a toll,” Eileen was saying. But I wondered if it was more than that. And couldn’t ask.

  I wandered outside for a bit while Eileen was busy with her grandmother, going as far as the barn to look in at the goats and horses and a sad little donkey who came at once to have his ears scratched. I was just turning back toward the house when I heard Eileen calling urgently to me.

  I hurried to the kitchen, but she wasn’t there, and when I stepped into the front room I could see why.

  The Constabulary had returned, and wanted
to ask me more questions.

  “Do you ride?” It was blunt and to the point.

  “Ride? Horses?” I repeated, as if taken aback. But my mind was racing. In spite of Terrence’s precautions, had someone seen us last night?

  “Yes.”

  “Well, of course I do.”

  That seemed to put him off, as if he hadn’t expected me to be so open.

  “When did you last ride?”

  “I expect it was the last time I visited my cousin in Kent. I can’t keep a horse in London, it’s too expensive. And so I must wait until I go down there.”

  “I’m told you were wearing a riding habit when you went into the village earlier in the day, yesterday.”

  “Oh,” I said, smiling, “yes, I do see. A friend from France brought me over to Ireland in his aircraft. And I had the most awful time getting into the cockpit. Fortunately my mother had suggested that I wear riding clothes, for the sake of modesty. And I hadn’t had an opportunity to change.”

  “When did you change?”

  “It was just after I got back from the pub visit, I believe. Eileen—Miss Flynn—was just going down to make sandwiches for our lunch.”

  I waited for the next question.

  He was busy writing in his little notebook. Without stopping, he asked, “You didn’t change again, after dinner?”

  “I was rather tired, and we went up to bed.”

  “Thank you.” He snapped the little book shut and with a nod turned to go. But at the door, he stopped. “Where is Terrence Flynn?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “He keeps horses here, does he not?”

  “I have no idea.” I started forward. “Shall I take you up to speak to the elder Mrs. Flynn? She might be able to help you.”

  “Good day, Miss Crawford.”

  And he was gone. I watched from a window as he mounted his bicycle and pedaled away.

  I found myself thinking that I was as grateful not to have to beard the dragon in her den as he appeared to be.

  There was a sound behind me, and I whirled.

  “What was that all about?” Eileen asked, coming to join me at the window.

  I said, “People in the village were staring at me. I gather someone told him I’d been out riding. I don’t think he knew about the flight—why I’d worn riding clothes.”

  “Does he think you might have killed that poor man?”

  “I can’t see why he should. I didn’t know the dead man or where he lived. How could I have harmed him? And who has been saying he was murdered? Even I couldn’t tell how he died.” Not quite true, but the less I appeared to know, the better. “Besides, I haven’t been alone since I landed here.”

  “Niall says that rumors are making the rounds, that it must have been murder.” She shook her head. “It’s just that he makes me nervous, that Constable. He’s like a weasel, waiting for his chance.”

  She went back to the kitchen, but I watched the man out of sight.

  The only thing I could think of to explain that odd conversation was not very reassuring. We’d been very careful, Terrence and I, to leave no trace of our presence the previous night. But what if one of the horses had left droppings behind, close by the cottage? We hadn’t considered that.

  And I needed to warn Terrence as soon as I could.

  Weddings were happy affairs as a rule. People coming and going as all the preparations were made, house guests and gifts arriving, an air of festivity and excitement surrounding the event, the house and the church decorated with flowers and ribbons and candles.

  There were no guests, except for the Major and me, the mood was anything but festive, and if there were candles or flowers or ribbons about, I hadn’t seen them. There wasn’t enough food in the pantry for our dinner tonight, much less a wedding feast.

  It was like a German fairy tale, where everything had vanished with the groom, cursed by the wicked witch.

  As Mrs. Flynn pounded on the floor above with her cane, I realized that we most certainly had the resident witch.

  Eileen was putting the finishing touches on her grandmother’s tea tray, and I was helping by arranging the dishes on her mother’s.

  Then I held the door while she carried the first tray upstairs.

  Major Dawson came down them just afterward, greeting me. I hadn’t seen him since last evening, and it was nearer dinner than breakfast.

  “Did you have breakfast? Or lunch?” I asked him. I hadn’t seen any indication that he had.

  “I helped myself to the porridge and the bread this morning. And washed up afterward. I could do with some tea now.” Smiling at my surprise, he said, “I got accustomed to fending for myself in France. And I thought it best not to be underfoot, since there’s so little I can do to help just now.” The smile faded. “The Constable was back again.”

  “Yes. More questions. Apparently they haven’t interviewed Terrence yet.”

  “Not surprising, if he doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Where is he staying? The pub?”

  “I suspect he’s been staying in the barn.”

  We had moved into the kitchen and were talking quietly.

  I said, “I wish I knew what to think about Michael’s disappearance. Those men go out and search the surrounding countryside, then come back with nothing to report for their efforts, no luck, no new information. How many hiding places can there be?”

  “If you want the truth, my view is that they go out to please Terrence. And he sends them to give Eileen the feeling that something is being done.”

  “Michael is out of the Army now, Dublin wouldn’t be too keen on coming all the way out here to look for him. But you’re still a serving officer, aren’t you? Would they come if you asked?”

  “I’d already thought about that. My Colonel wasn’t too pleased when I requested leave to attend the wedding. He thought Ireland was still too unsettled unless I was posted here and had a garrison at my back. The trouble is, there’s no way to find out. And if I leave, chances are I couldn’t make it back.” He shook his head. “Those who have the most to gain—preventing the traitor Michael from marrying into the family—are suspect, of course, but Michael isn’t easily frightened off, and they’d have to kill him to stop him. I’m not fully convinced that they’d go that far.”

  “If it isn’t Terrence—or Father O’Halloran—or Mrs. Flynn, Senior—who else could be behind this abduction?”

  “It’s rather far-fetched, but there could even be something in Michael’s past that we don’t know about. And this is the first chance someone has had to deal in a little revenge. On the other hand, there’s a man in the village. I’ve seen him walking on the lane several times, as if reconnoitering, and I don’t like the look of him. It’s one of the reasons I stay out of sight. He might think killing an English officer would put him in good odor in certain quarters. What’s more, he doesn’t appear to be local. I asked Niall who he was, and Niall didn’t know. And like Cassius, the man has a lean and hungry look.”

  It was a quote from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, a description of one of the men who would join Brutus in stabbing Caesar.

  And I was at once reminded of a man I’d seen on my first visit to the pub. The tall, thin man singing and playing the violin as we came through the passage from the bar into the back room. I’d seen too the way he’d stared at Terrence.

  “I agree, I don’t believe he’s local, either. And Terrence doesn’t care for him. There’s something between them. There were two other men at the pub as well who questioned Terrence openly. As if trying to stir up trouble. But when he spoke to them, they fell silent. Looking back on that visit, it was almost as if the singer left it to them to confront us, rather than take on Terrence directly. It made for a very tense moment.”

  The Major looked sharply at me.

  “You’ve seen him, then? You believe this man you call the singer is the one I’ve watched?”

  Before I could do more than nod, I could hear someo
ne on the stairs.

  Ellis Dawson leaned forward. “One more thing. Don’t trust Niall,” he added quickly in a whisper, and by the time Eileen stepped into the kitchen, he was cutting more slices of bread while I was finding plates in the cupboard.

  Chapter Seven

  Eileen stepped into the kitchen, the most forlorn expression on her face, as if as the day wore on, and there was no sign of Michael, her faith in his swift return was slipping away.

  Then, seeing the Major, she forced a bright smile, greeted him, and when he asked how she was holding up, she replied, “I keep telling myself that all will be well. But I know it isn’t true. I don’t know where to turn or what to do. Granny told me just now that she believed Michael had realized how impossible it was for us to marry, and that he’d done the proper thing by just walking away. That’s why the searchers haven’t found any trace of him. He doesn’t intend to be found.”

  Ellis swore under his breath as I said bracingly, “Well, that’s to be expected from your grandmother, darling. She wants you to believe that.”

  “But what if it’s true, what if he really did think he was doing the best thing for us both?”

  “If he felt the wedding couldn’t take place here in Killeighbeg, he’d have come to you, asked you to pack what you needed, and left Ireland. With you.” I’d never met Michael, but I remembered how wonderful his letters to Eileen had been, when they were separated by the war. How she had cherished them, and how she had talked about him. He hadn’t seemed then to be the sort of man who would cut and run after all of this time, leaving Eileen to wonder and grieve.

  She clung to my words, as if they were a lifeline.

  And Major Dawson said, “He never let his men down in France. I refuse to believe he would turn his back on you.”

  Just then Niall came down the steps and into the kitchen.

  For an instant, remembering the warning about him, I wondered if he’d been listening from the top of the stairs.

  But he said cheerfully, “Any word?” And went to pour himself a cup of tea. It was probably strong enough to dissolve the spoon, but he drank it down.

  Eileen said, “Nothing new. Niall, where have they searched? Do you know? What if they’ve not looked in the right places?”