by Charles Todd
“I told you. I’d asked for his help, before I was taken into custody. He was willing.”
“For a price? I know these Travelers.”
“There hadn’t been time to discuss a price,” I said, evading the issue. “He can bargain with Ellis, if he wishes.”
Terrence gave me a thoughtful glance. “Ellis.”
“That’s the Major’s Christian name.”
“I know. I’m surprised you do.”
“We were English, we were outsiders. One can become friends in such circumstances.”
“You have an odd way of collecting friends. Many of them male. The Major. The Traveler. The pilot who brought you here. Me.”
I stopped. “I held the hands of men dying of terrible wounds. I listened to them in their delirium, calling for a wife or their mother. I wrote their last letters for them while they wept. And I wept too, when they couldn’t see it. I’ve lived in a man’s world for four long, terrible years. I couldn’t save them all, but God knows I tried. I just wanted to save them. Even the Germans who were brought in bleeding and in need of care. I bound the wound in your arm, even though you once tried to rise up again my country. When someone is in pain, it doesn’t matter who they are.”
“You’re a rare woman, Bess Crawford.” And he turned to walk on.
When we reached the orchard, and could finally see the stables through the thinning trees, he stopped again.
“It’s best if you go in alone. I can watch you as far as the door. When you signal me from your window that you’re in and safe, I’ll follow. We shouldn’t be seen together.”
I could understand that. Bloody, bedraggled, wet to the skin. God knows what Granny would have to say.
He stood in the deep shadows at the end of the stable block as I kept to the trees where Eileen’s wedding breakfast had been set out. I was dressed in dark clothing, I hoped I blended in. But there was the open space between the last of the trees and the flower beds.
Holding my breath, I moved as quietly as I could to the side of the house. Only my windows and Maeve’s looked down on this part of the gardens. And I devoutly hoped she was not a light sleeper.
I reached the kitchen door, stood there for a moment, listening. Then I opened it and slipped inside, and as quietly closed it again. I was just about to step into the back stairs when I heard someone else at the door into the kitchen hall.
I didn’t stop to think—I simply opened the pantry door and stepped inside, praying that no one turned up the lamp and saw a wet footprint somewhere on the floor or at the door.
Footsteps came into the kitchen, then started toward the door to the back stairs.
Surely Terrence hadn’t followed so soon? Unless there was a good reason?
I stayed where I was, the pantry door still open the barest crack because there hadn’t been time to shut it properly.
There was a pause, and he crossed the kitchen, going to the pump, bending over and running the water over his head, then lifting it, reaching for the towel on the rack by the sink, rubbing his head briskly.
Tossing the towel on the floor, he turned back to the stairs.
Even in the dark kitchen, I recognized him. It was Niall. He wasn’t as tall as his brother, and he was trailing a strong odor of whiskey behind him.
Listening to the footsteps climbing the stairs, I waited for the sound of his door to open and close.
Instead, I heard a voice call quietly, “Niall. The pub closed hours ago.”
I didn’t hear him answer.
“This must stop,” his grandmother went on. “Now. Or you’ll be of no use to us.”
“I can hold my drink,” he said, his words very slightly slurred. And defensive.
“You can. But people in the drink will talk. And talk will see you killed. You’re not as clever as you think you are, boyo, and I’ll have no more of it.”
I expected him to tell her to mind her own business, but he cleared his throat, then said, “All right.”
“Your brother is lost to us. You’re the only one I can trust.”
“He was there, in the thick of the killing. He says he hasn’t the stomach for it now.” There was scorn and disgust in his voice.
Mrs. Flynn said sharply, “Never think it. He’s twice as clever as you are, and more of a man than you’ll ever be, if you don’t leave the drink alone.”
“You’re blind to him, that’s what it is,” he said, jealousy replacing the scorn.
“No. I’m a better judge of men than any of you. Go to bed. I only need to know, did you finish it?”
“No,” he said, almost with a perverse pleasure. “He wasn’t there. You’d said he would be.”
“Then something came up. There’s always tomorrow.”
She must have turned away. I heard her door close, and then after several minutes, the door to Niall’s room followed suit.
I waited a good ten minutes. Terrence must have seen his brother come into the house almost on my heels. He’d wait for my signal.
The dawn light was coming fast as I crept up the stairs and into my room. I went straight to the window, and pulled the curtains wide.
Only because I was looking, I saw him melt away around the corner and into the stable block itself.
And then I set about cleaning myself up, working in the dark until the sun was high enough to show me what I was doing. Stripping off the boy clothes—still wet and cold—bathing and putting on my nightgown, I washed my salt-caked hair, then sat by the window and dried it. But before I did, I took the wet clothes and hid them under the bed, where I hoped no one would accidentally come across them.
I was still at the window when Terrence came sauntering across the lawns, a bundle under his arm, and not a care in the world. Or so it appeared.
I ducked under the bed, pulled out my boy’s clothing, and then waited for his footsteps on the stairs.
As he passed my door, I opened it, handed him the wet clothing, and shut it again as silently as I could. Never mind that my hair was down and I was in my nightgown.
If they were found in his room, it wouldn’t matter. If they were discovered in mine, I could easily find myself in a cell once more.
Someone had been shot, up there at the prehistoric fort. Their prisoner had gone missing.
They wouldn’t rest, whoever they were, until they found him again and evened the score with whoever had taken him. They hadn’t been able to touch Michael, because he’d reappeared in a church full of witnesses. The Major, hidden away in that deserted croft, would be a different matter.
As long as I was free, I could take care of the Major until we could leave. The currach couldn’t hold all of us—two wounded men, Eileen and her mother, Simon and Terrence to row.
We were going to need something larger . . .
I crawled into bed, pulled up the coverlet, and was asleep almost at once, worries notwithstanding.
At some point I heard my door quietly open, someone looked in and, when I didn’t stir, shut the door again.
I hoped it was Eileen and not Niall. Or his grandmother.
When I came down to breakfast, it was nearly eight o’clock. Remembering my supposed headache the night before, I was prepared to play the invalid, then take a quiet stroll in the cool, fresh air, to clear my head.
I needn’t have bothered.
Only Molly was there. She was red-eyed from crying. But when I tried to ask her what was wrong, she shook her head and turned away.
“Are the family going to church?” If so, they wouldn’t be wanting breakfast. “Yes? Then go home,” I told her firmly. “Whatever it is, you’ll want to be over it before they come back, ready for their dinner.”
“I daren’t,” she told me. “I must take out the roast in half an hour.”
“I’ll see to the roast. Go on, I won’t tell on you.”
With an anxious glance toward the stairs, as if expecting Granny to descend on her with fire and brimstone, she caught up her scarf and fled.
One
less pair of eyes, I told myself. Looking in on the roast, I gave it ten minutes more, then set it on top of the cooker.
Next, I looked in on Eileen and Michael. She was dressing to attend Mass.
“I’ve much to be grateful for, Bess. I need to thank God for his mercies.”
Michael, with more color in his face beside that of fading bruises, said, “I don’t know that it’s wise.”
The church here was more involved in the lives of parishioners than the Church of England was at home. We went on special occasions, although others were far more regular in their attendance. We went to the spring fete or the Harvest Festival, and supported the campaign for a new roof or to stop the leaking pipes in the Rectory. We invited the Rector or the Vicar to Sunday dinner, and sometimes served as Wardens, and asked the church’s blessings on our marriages and christenings and burials.
Here it was a depth of belief and a respect for the priest that went beyond Sunday dinner or a fete. He ruled lives in ways that we hadn’t understood since the days of Henry VIII.
Still, I said to Eileen, “Perhaps Michael is right. Perhaps it’s not a good idea to draw attention to how much he’s improved. And there’s confession, Eileen. To Father O’Halloran.”
“I won’t take the sacrament. I just—it may be the last time, Bess.”
She hadn’t asked about my headache. And so I said, “Be careful, that’s all.” Adding, “My headache is gone, but I need fresh air. I’m thinking of a little walk.” Turning to Michael, I said, “I won’t be long. If you need something.”
He gazed at me, as if looking for hidden meaning behind my words. “Take your time,” he said finally. “I’ll be all right until she’s home again.”
Chapter Twenty
I had tapped on Maeve’s door before coming down, and when she answered, looking surprised—and very relieved—to see me there, I’d asked if I could speak to her.
She didn’t appear to be dressing for early Mass. Moving to the window, well away from any ear pressed to the door, I said, quickly, “We’ve found Major Dawson. He’s badly hurt. We need somewhere to keep him safe until he can travel—”
Surprised, she said, “How did you manage it, Bess—just the two of you? I didn’t sleep all night, worrying.”
“There—there were friends who helped.” Even though I trusted her to keep the Major safe, I didn’t think it wise to tell her everything. And it was true, in a way. “Now it’s our turn.”
“Terrence?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you. When everyone has gone to morning Mass, can we bring him here, keep him in your room for a day—two—and prepare him to leave Ireland? There are people who want him dead.”
“The same people who took Michael?”
“I must presume so. But he hasn’t regained consciousness, he can’t tell me who took him. Or why. It could simply be that he’s English.” Again the less she knew—and thought I knew—the better. And he hadn’t spoken while I was with him. I doubted that he had since then.
Maeve shook her head. “They’d have killed him outright, if it was only because he was English.”
“Will you help us? It’s a grave risk, you must understand that. But you’ll be leaving with Eileen, you won’t be here to answer for what you’ve done. It’s just being discovered before we can go.”
“Of course I will. Oh, Bess, I never thought I would have to flee my own country,” Maeve said. “But my life here is untenable. Yes, I’ll help the Major. I’ve liked him. I thought him quite brave to come here for Michael. He didn’t have to, he could have made excuses.” She gazed out the window. “It’s interesting that Eileen and Michael turned to the enemy to support them in what should have been the happiest day of their lives. It says something about the upheaval in Ireland. And Terrence was going to give Eileen away in place of her father, even at risk to himself. That took courage as well.” She looked at me again. “What will happen to him? I have always liked Terrence, you know. Eileen is quite fond of him as well.”
But not in love with him. Still, I didn’t think that Terrence would put her at risk by marrying her, even if she had loved him in return. Ireland had enough widows.
“Where is the Major? How will you bring him here?” she asked.
I didn’t want her to know where he was at present. “I’ve left that to Terrence.” Evading the question entirely.
“Well. It doesn’t matter. I’ll see that my bed is made ready.” She smiled. “You’re stronger than Eileen, you know. If someone threatened Michael, she would tell them whatever they wanted to know. And we can’t blame her. Not after what she’s endured.”
It was a warning not to tell her daughter where the Major was.
We talked for several minutes about what the Major might need. As I hadn’t been able to do more than a cursory examination, I could only tell her what I believed he might require.
Crossing the room, she opened her door. There was no one there. “Go,” she said softly.
With a smile, I slipped out of the room and made my way down the back stairs.
Free now to attend to the Major, I strolled among the gardens, then stopped by the stables. The epitome, I thought with amusement, of the English heretic endangering her soul while everyone else minded theirs.
Someone had already seen to the horses, and I strolled on to look in on the donkeys. No one was about and so I left my mug on a post and slipped into the orchard.
Finding my way back to the croft was no problem, but as I got closer, I began to whistle a tune, to let Simon know I was approaching.
He was standing by the tree in the opening, and he looked very tired.
“How are you? And how is the Major?” I asked quietly. “Has he been conscious?”
“Not completely. I think he knows he’s safe. He’s asleep now. Flynn brought what we needed earlier. Have you spoken to Mrs. Flynn?”
“Yes. She’s agreeable. And she warned me not to confide in Eileen.”
“I think that’s best.”
I followed Simon inside. Terrence had brought water, tea, blankets, and a change of clothing for the Major. And they had managed to bathe and dress him. I knelt by him and began my assessment. In the morning light coming through the broken walls and roof, he looked rather worse than he had by torchlight. And he was feverish.
The burns looked particularly bad, and I used the salve again. It had helped flyers rescued from burning aircraft, and I hoped it would help here. His eyes were still quite swollen, and I put ointment on them to help reduce the swelling, then used the same treatment for his broken hand.
Standing just behind me, Simon commented, “I don’t think his arms or legs are broken. Ribs are another matter. He was savagely kicked as well as beaten.”
“Yes, we must tape those. But first I need to treat the cuts. They must have used that knife repeatedly, the one that slashed Terrence’s arm. Deep enough to cause pain, but not deep enough to kill. Rather savage of them.”
“I don’t know if they’d made him talk or not. From the look of his wounds, they hadn’t. But they kept him tied.”
He reached forward and indicated the lines on the Major’s wrists and ankles.
I sighed. “I think I recognized one of those men—the one who ran past me. I’d seen him with the violinist. That tells me we were right when we thought we saw Padriac there at the edge of the wood.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. He’s involved.”
I worked for a good hour, cleaning and doing what I could to keep the wounds from getting infected. Then with Simon’s help, I wrapped his ribs, using almost all of the bandaging in the kit.
There was a blow on his head that had crusted over. It must have been dealt when he was first taken, to subdue him. I couldn’t imagine the Major going with anyone without a fight. Finally, I mixed aspirin with a little water, and Simon held the Major’s head while I helped him swallow the draft.
His eyes opened—or attempted to—and he peered up at me over the rim of the cu
p.
“All is well,” I said. “You need to rest now.”
Obediently closing his eyes, he seemed to relax as Simon lowered him to the blankets again.
Simon had been quiet as I worked, helping where needed but saying very little. But as I was finishing, he asked, “Why is Flynn so willing to help you?”
I looked up at him. “Terrence? He’s in love with Eileen. I think he’d do anything for her. And that includes helping me, if need be. Michael won’t leave without the Major. Eileen won’t leave without Michael. Therefore the Major had to be found. More importantly, I think, is the fact that Terrence wants to see her safely out of Ireland. As soon as possible.”
Echoing my thoughts earlier, Simon commented, “Now that the war’s over, I think England will deal harshly with any more upheavals. It’s going to be far worse before it gets any better.”
“The northern counties don’t want to leave English rule. That’s a sticking point. Irish leaders insist they must come out. And I don’t believe there’s a solution that will please anyone.”
“I agree.”
Finishing my work, I got to my feet.
As I did, Simon moved to the opening where we’d come in. He was standing there, his back to me, as I packed away the kit.
I walked over to where he was standing. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
He turned to look at me. “Are you leaving the Queen Alexandra’s?”
“I expect I shall have to. They’re reducing the nursing staff rather drastically. I’d be teaching future Sisters. And I don’t think that’s something I want to do.”
“What will you do then?”
“I truly don’t know. I’m sure my parents would prefer to have me come home, at least for a little while.” I took a deep breath. “I’m rather lost, Simon. The war filled my life so completely—my training, the need to keep men alive—that I never had time to consider my future. And now it’s here, and I feel empty. I’ve wanted to talk to you about that, but you were off to Scotland while I was in Paris. And you’ve been rather—unapproachable—since you came home. I didn’t know how to begin. I don’t know what’s wrong.”