by Charles Todd
Looking frightened, she shook her head. “They’ve searched along the coast, and the fishermen know to watch for a body. But there’s a whisper going about that he slipped away in the night, to return to England.”
“That can’t be true. For one thing, his clothes and personal items are still in his room. So I’ve been told by Terrence,” I quickly amended. “Why would he leave without his belongings?”
Still, I could see too that such a rumor was useful in casting doubt on whether or not he was truly missing.
And certainly Molly was unconvinced. “That’s to throw us off,” she suggested. “He’s an English officer, he can buy what he needs in London.”
I didn’t say anything about the bloodstain on the stone or the marks where he must have been dragged to where a horse was waiting.
“Well, I refuse to believe such a story. And you shouldn’t, either. After all, you’ve met the Major. Do you really think he would do such a thing, and not say goodbye?”
Nothing I could say seemed to change her mind, and I let it go. But when Terrence came in an hour later, looking tired and more than a little cross, I told him what Molly had told me.
“There was much the same rumor about Michael. That he’d changed his mind about the wedding and slipped away, rather than face it like a man and tell us the marriage was off. Another rumor had it that my grandmother and Michael had had words, and she frightened him off. I think half the guests at the wedding had come to see how Eileen would take the disappointment of the groom not appearing.”
And instead they had seen him for themselves. Bloody wounds and all.
“Who’s behind this sort of talk?” I asked him. “It must be someone who doesn’t wish the family well.”
“I don’t know,” he said, angry and trying to conceal it. “There are those who claim that after the Rising failed—after the leaders were condemned or sentenced—we didn’t do enough to avenge them. God knows we wanted to, but the English had us under their heel. The bloodshed would have been far worse, the next time.”
“The war is over, the treaty has been signed—not by everyone, of course, but by enough to make it valid. We can concentrate on Ireland now. Don’t the hotheads realize that England can bring all its might down on them, if they aren’t careful? Don’t they think England will?”
“God knows.” He shook his head. “I doubt it. And the northern counties have stronger ties to England. They’re mostly Protestant, and they want nothing to do with an Irish and Catholic state. It’s a sticking point. But Ireland won’t be satisfied with half measures. Wait and see.” He started toward the stairs. “We go out again at first light. But don’t hold your breath. We never found Michael. He found himself.”
After saying good night to Michael and Eileen, I went up to my room and mended the hem of one of Eileen’s aprons, for lack of anything else to do until it was late enough to meet Simon. And finally, however much I’d willed them to move faster, the hands on my little watch pointed to half an hour after midnight.
Changing to my own dark dress, I slipped out of my room, down the steps, and out of the house.
The night was quiet. I kept to the shadows as much as I could, and then faced that long walk across the lawns to the stile. I’d just climbed over it and was about to turn toward the meadow when something made a sound behind me.
My heart leaped into my throat, and I stopped short just as something heavy pushed me hard in the middle of my back, nearly knocking me off my feet.
I knew what it was almost at once, but that didn’t stop the shock quickly enough. I clamped my jaw shut, cutting off a cry.
And the mare that I’d ridden several times blew, in greeting.
They had moved the horses to this meadow, allowing them to stay out and graze.
As I reached up and patted her soft nose, I wondered if they had been put here to prevent the Captain from landing and taking any of us away before whatever they were planning took place. Or was I being too imaginative? It was possible that it was only a matter of moving the horses here to graze in fresh grass.
I gently pushed her aside, started to leave a handkerchief on the stile, saw that Simon had done it for me, and then hurried toward the clump of hawthorn trees.
Simon came forward to greet me.
“You weren’t followed?”
“No. But the horses startled me. Terrence didn’t say anything about moving them.”
“I hadn’t expected them, but they were on the far side of the meadow earlier. Are you up to walking?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see where this boat could come in.”
“I think I can find it again.”
We set out, not speaking until we’d made our way across the meadow, and by a roundabout way that couldn’t be seen from the house or outbuildings, we reached the orchard and moved on beyond.
When it was safe to speak, Simon told me about last night.
“When I left you, I went to the house that belonged to Fergus Kennedy. I was able to verify that part of Sergeant Sullivan’s account. There are several inlets where a small boat could come and go without bringing attention to it. Or its cargo. But where it went after reaching the sea, I don’t know. There are small islands out there, a number of them. I don’t know how many are occupied.”
“Did you look into the Kennedy house?”
“I did. He was a fine artist. It’s a shame to see what has been done to his paintings. There was anger at work there. Even though the intent must have been to find out if he’d sketched the boat the night they must have taken Michael out. Most likely, he’d only seen it, and there hadn’t been time for him to sketch.”
“He was doing a series of portraits of the heroes of the Rising. For the day when a museum or memorial could be built.”
“I recognized several faces in spite of the torn canvases. From newspaper accounts of the Rising and the trials.”
The sound of the sea came to us, and the distinctive scent of salt water. Around us, the reeds whispered and clicked together in the light wind. Cresting a slight rise, we could see the white line of waves rolling in. It was quite beautiful, in a way. We stopped, to look at it.
And then we had to be practical. There was the long walk back to be considered.
A low roar reached us, growing louder. Looking up, I saw that it was Arthur, flying over us, high above. We waved, but I didn’t think he saw us—or perhaps didn’t know who we were. But it was heartening to see him there, a fleeting reminder of home, where all this began, around the dining room table . . .
Turning back to me, Simon pointed. “The sea is a little rough here to bring in a boat. Is there an inlet nearby? We have to take into account that it might have to wait or that the weather turns.”
“Or even if we are delayed,” I said thoughtfully. I’d come here on horseback. It was far longer on foot—or so it seemed. Getting Michael this far might be a problem.
As if he’d read my mind, he said, “I saw donkeys in a paddock behind the barn. We could put Michael on one of them, if necessary.”
That was the old Simon I knew, the friend who could share my thoughts as I shared his.
But I said only, “A good idea. I’ll go out there and make certain they know me. I think there are some carrots in the pantry.”
“Yes, we don’t want them braying in alarm. Let’s find that inlet.”
And we did, not much farther along. A finger of the sea that had cut into the land. I’d seen the map. The west coast of Ireland was threaded with these inlets, like a piece of cloth that had frayed with wear. Here it was the Atlantic that had eaten away the land, except where rocky cliffs held it off as long as possible.
This one wasn’t very deep—we explored it for less than a mile. There was a farmhouse at the end of it, the roof long swept away by the winds, leaving jagged edges where the storms had eaten at the walls. A windbreak of trees protected it, bent by the wind. The windows were a dark space indicating neither light inside nor people. Ev
en the door was gone. Another victim of the potato famine that had killed so many and driven so many more to leave Ireland for any country that would take them in?
I felt a wave of sadness. The Irish had very good reasons for hating us, and the famine was one of them. We could have helped—and didn’t.
“What is it?” Simon asked, trying to read my expression.
I didn’t tell him. Once I might have done, but now I said only, “I was wondering if Michael had been held in such a place as this old ruin? Or the Major, now. Do you think they took him to the same place? Or found a new hideaway?”
“If they’re clever, they’ll find a new one. But this house might provide shelter for us.”
Where the end of the inlet was clogged now with reeds and grasses, there were signs where a boat had once been drawn up. Simon studied it carefully. “I can bring a boat in here, and hide it. The problem is, we’ll need strong rowers when we reach the sea, to keep us from capsizing in the waves. God knows what condition Dawson will be in.”
“That leaves you and me, possibly Eileen.”
“Yes. I don’t know if that will be enough to keep us afloat.” He didn’t seem to be very taken with my idea of a boat. But how else were we going to get everyone out?
Thinking aloud, I said, “I wish Terrence would come with us. He would be able to row.”
Simon turned to me. If he hadn’t been able to read my face earlier in this light, I couldn’t read his either.
“Do you want him to come?”
Nor could I quite decipher his tone of voice. In anyone but Simon I might have thought it was simple jealousy. Perhaps he didn’t trust Terrence and was in a roundabout way asking if I did.
And so I answered with what I thought was amusement. “Well, I don’t know what we’d do with him, once we were safely away. You could always turn him in to the Army. There might even be a reward.”
If I had struck him, he wouldn’t have been as shocked.
He turned and strode away, leaving me standing there.
I realized I’d hurt him somehow—hurt him deeply. But I didn’t know what it was I’d said. Or worse, how to mend it.
I felt frightened suddenly.
Simon had always been there—well, so it had seemed to me. When my parents had taken him in hand, a tall anger-ridden recruit, he and I had become fast friends. I couldn’t have had a brother who was closer. Always there, sometimes chiding me—sometimes outright scolding me—but always protecting me. Teaching me how to ride and how to shoot. We’d lived in a hostile country for some years, and yet I’d always felt safe. The Colonel Sahib and Simon were always there. I knew my father cared for him like the son he’d never had. The bond between them was as strong as any blood tie. And I thought that Simon too had felt as if he were part of our family. We’d been angry with each other many times, but it had not been hurtful. Both of us were strong-willed. I was as stubborn as he was. But he had never frightened me the way he had just now. As if I’d cut to the quick, and worse still, meant to.
My mouth was dry as I hurried after him. What could I say? I didn’t even know how, because I didn’t know why I had to say something.
When I caught him up, along a bit of strand between the reeds and the tide line, I said, “Simon, what is it? What have I done?”
He kept walking, but he might as well have been miles away, and I was here alone. I felt cold, lost.
I reached out and touched his arm, forcing him to stop.
“Please. What’s wrong?” I could feel tears thickening my voice.
He looked down at me. “It’s very late,” he said after a moment. “I hadn’t realized how late.”
For some reason I didn’t think he was talking about the hands of the clock.
And then he added, in the tone of voice I was so used to, “Come along. It’s a long walk back to the house.”
Instead of feeling reassured, I was even more perplexed. But I smiled and turned. We walked most of the way in what passed for a companionable silence until we had reached the orchard. There he stopped.
“Can you make your way from here? It’s not safe for you to be seen with me. It isn’t done.”
I knew he was right. I shouldn’t be consorting with a Traveler. Matron would have an apoplexy. But I didn’t want to leave with things unsettled between us.
There were clouds overhead, but in the east there was the faintest lightening of the sky. And as I looked up at him, for the first time I saw the bruise high on his cheekbone.
“You’ve been in a fight.”
“The singer—violinist as you call him. His name is Padriac Murphy. Paddy to you. For some reason he took a dislike to the parrot. We had words. It turned physical. My impression was, he was showing off for the onlookers. If I hadn’t fought him, they would have run me out of town.”
“Be careful. The Major called him Cassius.”
“I’d agree there. And he would have stabbed Caesar in the back.”
“Watch yours.”
He nodded, and was gone. But I knew he’d keep watch until I reached the house.
I walked on through the high grass in the orchard and was soon at the end of the stable block. The donkeys were grazing in the paddock. They looked up as I passed. But I had no sugar lumps or carrots to offer them just now. Moving on, I was just passing the stables when a shadow moved out of deeper shadows and spoke.
I thought at first that it must be Niall, or Terrence.
“Where have you been?”
It was Granny—the senior Mrs. Flynn.
And she had her cane with her. I wouldn’t put it past her to use it.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Don’t be pert. It doesn’t become you.”
I sighed, trying to draw her away from the stable—and by extension, the orchard—and closer to the house.
“I couldn’t sleep. I’m worried about the Major—when you see what was done to Michael, there’s very good reason to fear for him.”
She cut me short. “I heard voices.”
I laughed. “I was talking to the donkeys. But they wouldn’t come to be petted.”
“Why the orchard?”
“I intended to go to the meadow, but the horses are there. I didn’t want to disturb them.”
“Afraid of horses, are you?” It was a typical taunt.
“Certainly not—” I began, then realized that she was trying to draw me away from the question about why she herself was out at this hour. In the growing light, color was still washed out, but I could see that she was dressed in dark clothing, and her hair was pinned up, as if she were joining us for dinner or planning to go into the village. And so I said, turning as if I were planning to go to the stalls, “—I’m sorry, is there a horse needing medical attention? I don’t know much about animal illnesses—”
“Oh, do stop,” she broke in. “I heard a noise in the stables. A fox, as it turned out.”
She marched off toward the house and the kitchen garden door, cane thumping. I walked just a little behind her.
Who had she been meeting in the stable block? It couldn’t have been Niall or Terrence, because they would have come to her room if she wished to speak privately with them. And was he still there, waiting for us to go away?
I was impatient now to reach my room and look out, in time to see who was leaving. But she couldn’t walk as fast as I could. And I couldn’t hurry past her to reach the house sooner.
All I could do, then, was to hope that Simon had been near enough to hear what had passed between Mrs. Flynn and me, and that he would watch the stables to see who it was.
We finally reached the house, and it occurred to me that perhaps whoever she had met might have left before I got to the stables, and her confrontation was to keep me from seeing him on the lane, on his way back to the village.
It couldn’t have been her grandsons—she had had words with the priest—I couldn’t imagine her having anything in common with that man Paddy Murphy.
; Who had come to the house in the dead of night?
The thought followed me up the stairs and into my room, as Mrs. Flynn shut her door with more force than was necessary.
I hurried to my window, but the light was growing, and even though I watched for half an hour, no one came out of the stables or across the lawns.
Giving up, I went to bed, but not to rest. I watched the sunrise fill my window with a golden glow.
What had changed Simon so much?
What had I done to hurt him as I did?
I went over and over it, and couldn’t find the trigger. Yet it had been there, I hadn’t imagined it.
When I finally began to slip into a light sleep, the house was waking up.
I wouldn’t see Simon again until tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
Habit brought me out of a restless sleep at seven o’clock. I got ready for the day, all the while hoping it would bring us news of Ellis Dawson’s whereabouts. Both for his sake and for ours. I was ready to leave Killeighbeg. The wedding was over, and that was what had brought me here. But I couldn’t leave him to his fate, whatever that might be. Michael had lived, through his own efforts. The intent had been to kill him, once the boat was far enough out to sea. Just as they’d done with Fergus Kennedy.
Breakfast passed without event, but when I looked in on Michael, Eileen told me anxiously that his fever had risen in the night. Not terribly high, but enough for concern.
I suspected that one of the deeper cuts had become infected. That was always a risk with wounds, however they might have occurred.
It was on his shoulder, the edges red and puffy, and I tried to drain it, but that didn’t seem to help.
“He needs to see a doctor, Eileen. Neither my skills nor yours seem to be making a difference.”
“You were a surgical Sister, Bess. I was only a ward Sister. Surely you can do more for him? At least as much as a country doctor. Besides, the nearest one is miles away.”
“Yes, I know. He really should have a surgeon look at that wound. In Dublin or perhaps in Cork.” I was about to suggest London as well, but at the last minute changed my mind. It was best not even to hint at escape.