by Charles Todd
“If you don’t listen to what I’m telling you, you won’t get your strength back anytime soon. I’ve seen men weak as babies, lying on their cots weeping, because they didn’t do as they were told.” That wasn’t quite true. But the sooner he was back to himself, the sooner the rumors of poison would fade away.
I rose and handed Eileen’s kit to Terrence, then preceded him down the stairs and out the door, without seeing anyone else.
“He was found on the road last night, too weak to stand. He was already vomiting a little blood, or so I’m told. The old woman didn’t want to take him in, but his friends insisted, afraid he would die before they got him back to the pub.”
“It was a wild goose chase,” I told him flatly. “It was the fish, nothing else.”
“I hadn’t heard of anyone else taken as ill as he was.”
“Still.” The church was just ahead of us. “Why did you want me to look in on him? Were you afraid you’d be blamed if anything happened to him?”
“Better the Gypsy than me,” he said trenchantly. And then he looked at me, looked away again. “If it was anyone, it was Eileen who did this.”
“She never leaves the house, how could she possibly give that man anything that would make him ill?” I stopped, staring at him.
“The girl. Molly. She sometimes works in the pub kitchen. I’ve told you. Her mother isn’t well, there isn’t a father in sight, and she’s the sole wage earner.”
“Would she put something in the dish being served to him? If anyone found out, what would they do to her?”
“I don’t know. To both questions.”
“Why would Eileen wish to do him harm?”
“He had made some rather foul remarks about Michael. She was convinced Padriac had something to do with Michael’s disappearance. Because of Michael’s service with the British Army. Padriac had also claimed that there ought to be a bounty on Michael’s head.”
Was Eileen capable of that? If Molly had been in a hurry or afraid for herself, if she hadn’t measured, if she’d emptied most of the bottle into Padriac’s food, he would have been terribly ill.
Terrence was saying, “What was that bottle you took out of the kit, then put back after looking at it? Was it something to settle his stomach? Or a poison he’d somehow rid himself of, by vomiting so fiercely?”
He was quick. I had to hand him that.
But he’d also told me why he had been so concerned about a man he disliked. For Eileen’s sake, Terrence hadn’t wanted the man to die. An investigation might open up suspicion . . .
For a moment I wondered if that was why Granny was in the stable yard, if she’d been waiting for Molly to slip away and tell her what had happened. But why would she want harm to come to Padriac? Because he was a risk to Terrence? Eileen’s kit was kept in her room, anyone could have had access to it.
“It wasn’t a poison. We don’t carry such things in our kit.” Still, emetics had medical uses, and dosage mattered. Then I added, “I was thinking it might help with the pain he was experiencing, but there wasn’t enough left in the bottle. I told you before, Eileen hasn’t kept up her kit. That’s why we had to find a chemist for Michael.” I didn’t care to lie, but it was the only way out of this.
There was another way. “I’d like to have a look at that caravan. The Traveler’s. I’d like to see if he has anything in it that might have been used to make Mr. Murphy ill.”
“There’s no need.”
“But there is. Why should an innocent man, Traveler or not, be punished when he’d done nothing? And Padriac is just such a one to cause trouble in that direction. You heard him. The last thing we need is more of the Constabulary brought in here.”
“I’m not taking you into the village—”
We’d walked on as we talked, and were in the lane that led to the house. From behind us we heard the sounds of harness jangling. I glanced over my shoulder. It was the caravan coming up the rise near the church. My heart sank. The last thing I needed was to encounter Simon just now. And not just because of last night.
“Speak of the devil,” Terrence said, and he wasn’t very happy about it either.
I stopped to wait for it to catch us up, and Terrence perforce had to wait as well. I could hear the parrot now, with its foul vocabulary. I wondered what it had called Paddy Murphy that started the fight. Or was it going to happen regardless of the poor bird? The marvel was, there hadn’t been a fight between Terrence and the man.
Simon was holding the reins, talking back to the parrot in Urdu. What was the bird’s owner going to think when the parrot had learned to swear in Urdu and Hindi?
He had surely seen us waiting, but he took his time reaching us.
“Good day,” he said affably.
“Good day to you. I’m a nursing Sister. Can you tell me if you have any medical remedies that I might buy from you?”
“What, the silly man who says his brandy was poisoned? See for yourself, I only mend, I don’t treat.”
He went around and lowered the steps to the rear door. I followed, and he said softly, “Poison?”
“Emetic,” I replied, and crossed my fingers where he could see them. Terrence had stopped to look over the horse. It was a handsome one, a black mare with white shanks, and its coat was sleek.
But by the time I’d climbed into the caravan, Terrence was right behind me.
This was my first visit to a Traveler’s caravan. I wasn’t sure precisely what to expect. It was fitted out with a bed in the far end, a small stove in the middle, connected to a chimney, all manner of seats atop chests, and even a rather handsome carpet. There was even an oil lamp in a bracket above my head. I’d heard that the interiors were often extraordinarily ornate, yet the caravan would be burned during the funeral of the owner. This one was a rich dark red inside, with gilt carvings, although not as many as I’d expected, given what I’d been told. The roof was bow shaped, but I didn’t think it was high enough for anyone as tall as Simon.
If he’d cracked his head on the roof any number of times, it might explain his moodiness . . .
There was a chair in the middle of the floor, and I recognized it. The Traveler had promised to mend it for Mrs. Flynn the Younger.
Terrence recognized it as well.
“Here!” he said, turning on Simon. “When did you steal this?”
“He didn’t. Eileen’s mother had asked him to mend it for her.”
Simon picked it up, turning the chair around so that he could point out the mend.
It was perfect, much to my surprise. And the arm was no longer loose, as he demonstrated after he set it down again.
“When did he come to the house?” Terrence demanded of me.
“I don’t know—a few days ago? Ask Mrs. Flynn.”
The caravan was a little crowded with the three of us and the chair.
I turned to go, and both men had to step out to let me escape.
I said to Terrence, “If he has medicines, it would take most of the day to search for them.”
Simon stepped in, took out a small drawer belonging to one of the chests, and brought it out to me.
Looking at it, I could see that it was nothing more than the usual remedies any good housewife might keep for use in her family and any staff. But I picked among the bottles and looked at labels, then shook my head. “Nothing here that would make anyone terribly ill.” Glancing at Simon, I added, “I’m sorry. That man you fought thought you’d poisoned him. My view is that it was a bit of fish that had gone off.”
“I didn’t need to poison him. After all, I won the fight,” Simon replied calmly.
It was all I could do to keep a straight face, but the parrot had begun another string of foul language, and I said to Terrence, “Take me home, please, I can’t listen to any more of this.”
Terrence, about to say something, was at least enough of a gentleman to agree, and he said to the Traveler, “Bring the chair on to the house.”
And then he took my arm a
nd led me away from the caravan.
Mrs. Flynn was quite pleased with the work that Simon had done, told Terrence that he should pay the man for the work, and shut her door on both of them. I was standing in the doorway of my room—out of their way.
But as they went down the stairs I heard Simon blandly ask if there was any other mending to be done for the ladies. He seemed determined to cause trouble with Terrence. Of course, he knew that the man was wanted for his part in the Rising. That appeared to be reason enough.
I shut my door and went to sit at the window.
I was still concerned about what had happened to Padriac Murphy. I’d been rather shocked to hear Terrence admit that Eileen might be responsible. Could she have done such a thing? Without a word to anyone? Yes, she’d seen how terribly Michael had suffered, how severely he’d been beaten to make him answer questions. I could understand how helpless she might have felt, how she must have wanted to punish whoever had done that, even in a small way.
But why did she believe that it was Paddy who was responsible? Unless—unless she believed that his earlier comments about Michael had paved the way for someone to take them to heart?
By the same token, why was her grandmother out at the stable yard in the middle of the night? Had she been expecting to meet with Padriac, and he hadn’t appeared? She’d have had no way of knowing what had happened to him, and his friends were too busy keeping him alive to come in his place. She was ready to give him the rough edge of her tongue, for keeping her waiting.
Yet I couldn’t understand why she was meeting with a man her grandson didn’t trust. A man even I knew was Terrence’s enemy.
There seemed to be no answers any way I looked. But then I was the outsider, the Flynn family could meet and discuss and arrange anything it cared to do, and I would be the last person to know. There could be whole conspiracies swirling around my head, for that matter.
The only other person who was in a similar position to mine was Eileen’s mother. But she had lived in this house for many years, as wife and mother and widow. She might have a surprising knowledge of what the family did or believed or tried to hide.
And she might be persuaded to confide in me, as one woman to another, even if I was a stranger. She must know that I was trying to help Eileen and Michael. That I’d come all this way because I was glad that her daughter was well and on the verge of happiness.
Only, it hadn’t turned out quite that way, had it?
All the more reason for Mrs. Flynn the Younger to take a very different view of what was going on in this house.
When everything was quiet again, no one on the stairs or in the kitchen, I walked quietly down the passage and tapped lightly at her door.
Chapter Sixteen
She didn’t answer straightaway.
And then the door opened so quietly my hand was raised to tap again.
She smiled. “Bess. Come in, do.”
I stepped into the room, and closed the door behind me, just as quietly.
“I wondered if you were pleased with the work mending your chair.”
“I was, to my surprise. I only asked that man to do it to annoy my mother-in-law. She doesn’t care for Travelers. Nor do I for that matter, but he was clean and polite. I thought it would do no harm.” She gestured to a chair—not the recently mended one—and I sat down. “I do wish I had a way to offer you tea,” she went on. “I try to stay away from the others as much as possible.”
“Shall I go down to the kitchen and make a cup for you?” I asked.
“No, no. Although a lemonade would be pleasant. My father would bring lemons from Dublin, and the well provided deliciously cool water, even on the warmest day. Ah, well, those days are behind me. But I had a lovely childhood.”
She must have done. It was there in her manners and her conduct.
I said, “Was it possible for you to return to your home, when you were widowed?”
“I couldn’t leave Eileen. And my mother-in-law wouldn’t hear of me taking her away. It was stay or abandon my child.” Changing the subject, she asked, “How is Michael? Truly? Do you see improvement? I can’t bear to think of what was done to him.”
“There is a daily change,” I replied, “but not as fast as I’d like. I’d prefer to see him up, on his feet, walking around the room for a bit.” He needed to strengthen that leg if he was going to walk to the boat.
“Eileen is so worried. And he won’t tell her what happened. He says he doesn’t remember much of it. I wonder if that’s true.”
“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “I only speak to him in Eileen’s presence, and he doesn’t wish to worry her.”
“He’s a good man, Michael Sullivan,” she said, nodding. “I’m pleased with her choice.”
“Even though he fought for England?”
“He did what he believed was right at the time. But time has a way of changing. He couldn’t have foreseen the Rising or how serving with the English would be viewed afterward. I’ve wondered, the last few years—since Eileen came home so badly injured—if Terrence wasn’t in love with her. But he seems to have accepted Michael, and I’m very glad for that. I didn’t want her to marry her cousin. Her grandmother would have made her life wretched.” And then, catching me completely off guard, she asked, “What was my mother-in-law doing in the stables at all hours of the night?”
“I have no idea—”
“Was she waiting for someone? Looking for someone?” Her eyes held mine.
“Does she go out after dark, very often?” I countered.
“I’ve never seen her do such a thing. I heard Terrence come up to his room rather late. She couldn’t have been looking for him.”
Had she seen me come out of the orchard? She wasn’t asking, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t.
“How involved is she with the people who seem to be keeping the country on edge with their plots and troublemaking?”
“She wants to see Ireland free in her lifetime. But it will be a bloody affair. Those who are urging violence, like Michael Collins, will get their way, and then the British will retaliate, and there will be civil war. Even promoting the idea of independence carries the death penalty, did you know? The English are quite serious about not letting us go.” There was sadness in her voice. “If you return to England and talk about what you’ve seen or heard here, they will come for her. My advice is to go quickly, and say nothing when you are safely back in England.”
This was something I hadn’t considered, that my actions could cause a great deal of trouble for the people I’d met here. Small wonder my father had been against my coming to Ireland, even for something as simple as a wedding.
“I came as a friend of Eileen’s. Not to spy.”
“The question will be, what Major Dawson will do, if he survives?”
And I didn’t know the answer to that.
“Do you think the Traveler would spirit you away from here, if you offered him enough money?” she asked. “It’s the only way I can think of to get you out of Killeighbeg before my mother-in-law decides it would be unwise for you to go at all.”
I could have told her that the “Traveler” would be delighted to spirit me out of Ireland. But I said only, “I can’t believe she would do such a thing.”
“You don’t know her as well as I do. I’ve been afraid of her for a very long time.”
Which explained why Maeve Flynn had seemed almost reclusive and possibly even a little slow when I’d first met her. An act to protect herself and her daughter . . . No wonder Eileen wanted to take her mother with her when she left.
In the afternoon, the search for Major Dawson was called off. Most of the men worked, and there was only so much they were willing to give up for someone who didn’t belong to the village. I was in the kitchen when the news came.
Terrence said, explaining this to Eileen, “We don’t know where to look that we haven’t searched already.”
“Then he’s in someone’s loft or cellar, hidden
away on a boat—”
“He isn’t, I can swear to it.”
“Well, Michael won’t leave without him. What if he’s already dead? And we go on waiting? I don’t want to spend the rest of my marriage sitting here until the poor man is found. You ought to know who had taken him, Terrence. You’re thick with the rebels. Do something!”
“Love,” he said gently, “it isn’t my lot who have him. If they did, I’d have had Michael home before they’d laid a hand to him.”
“I want to go,” she said stubbornly. “I want to leave Ireland and never look back. It’s going to tear itself apart—or the English will do it for us.”
He started to say something, then thought better of it. Instead he asked, “Let me talk to Michael. I know this part of the country better than he does, and I might just make sense of what he tells me. There must be something he recalls that would help us.”
They argued over this as well. Eileen was adamant, she didn’t want to know what Michael had been through. Terrence said, “You can’t have it both ways, Eileen. If you can’t bear to hear what he’s suffered, step outside while we talk.”
“But he doesn’t remember anything. You’ll just be wearing down his strength for nothing.”
He crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Eileen. Hear me. We’ve got no choice. Much longer and the Major will be dead. And trust me, I know that there is going to be more trouble, before this is done. The sooner you go, the happier I’ll be.”
She looked at him. “You’ve always loved Ireland more than you’ve loved any of us. When I was young, I thought you were the most wonderful man in the world. The handsomest, the strongest, the bravest, the best at everything. I wanted to marry you. Did you know that? No, of course not—because you were never home long enough to care about us. I fell in love with Michael because he knew I was there, he loved me. I was first, Ireland second. Nothing will come between Michael and me. Not even you.”
There was such bitterness in her voice that I was taken aback.
Terrence stepped back, as if he’d been stung by the truth in her words.