by Charles Todd
Knocking at my door, he handed me the sack and said, “This should see you safely back to England.”
“Come in, please. There’s something you should know.”
He did, shutting the door behind him. And I told him about Molly, Niall, and his grandmother. Not to be a tattletale but to let him know how things stood before he walked into the matter blind.
“I was afraid of this,” he said when I’d finished. “Not about Molly, of course, that’s news. Poor child, she ought never to have been caught in the middle of this. I’ll speak to her. But I’d watched Niall’s drinking, I suspected I knew why, but there was nothing I could do. Granny was driving him.”
“What happened to your father? May I ask? She’s so filled with bitterness.”
“It was an accident. He’d gone to the barracks with my mother, they were to be guests at some function or other. There was a mishap with some ordnance—a shell had a bad fuse. At any rate it terrified the horses, and he was just about to step down and hand out my mother when they bolted. He was thrown from the carriage, and she was killed outright when it overturned. He lived a few hours, but it was hopeless—the doctor did everything he could, but the injury was to his spine.” He took a deep breath. “We were children, Niall and I. I remember the priest and someone from the barracks coming to the door, and then my grandmother screaming. The house was in turmoil. It was hours before someone came to tell the two of us that our parents had been killed. I’ll never forget Niall asking, ‘But they’ll come home when they’re better, won’t they?’ and later, when the coffins were brought into the main parlor—it’s been closed off ever since—my grandmother took us to see them and told us the English had murdered them and we were never to forget that.”
Dear God. It was a terrible burden to put on grieving children who barely comprehended death. I could understand why she’d become the vicious, bitter old woman she was. The tragedy was, she had carried her family into her own grief and shaped them through it.
I said—anything else would have been wrong—“I’m sorry. Eileen had never said anything.”
“She didn’t know. She and her parents were visiting Maeve’s cousins in Dublin. It wasn’t until her own husband died that Maeve became a recluse, having to live here without him to stand up to Granny.” He looked down, his face sad. “It wasn’t much of a life for my aunt. I did what I could to see that Eileen was happy.”
“What will she do—your grandmother—when all of us have gone?”
“She’ll have the house to herself. But it won’t make her happy.” He shrugged slightly. “She will never change, Bess. Even if—when—Ireland is free, it won’t matter. I’ve a feeling she’ll find a new crusade. And very likely it will be about the English who stole her family from her.”
It was then I told him about the Constable.
He said, “Are you sure of this?” When I nodded, he went on thoughtfully, “It makes sense of course. It explains so much that we didn’t understand. He covered his part very well, the bastard.”
Clearing his throat, the closest he could come to apologizing for swearing, he added, “The sooner you’re out of here, the better, given this news about Molly spying on us. But I can’t fault her. She’s caught up in something she doesn’t understand.”
“How involved is Granny with these people?”
“I expect they were happy to have her money and her open support. They have used her. And Niall. It gave them some respectability locally.”
“Will they betray you, Terrence?”
“They won’t have the opportunity. I’ve got a safe haven to go to, once Eileen and her mother are well clear of this place.”
For an instant, something in his voice frightened me.
“Terrence—”
He smiled. “Not what you think. No, I’m stubborn enough to want to live to see Ireland free, and then to stand for office and be certain that it’s done right. That between them the Church and the hotheads don’t make a disaster of it, and bring the English back with ‘I told you so.’” He turned toward the door. “I must look in on them.” And then he turned back. “You know Simon, don’t you? Who is he?”
“He’s a friend of the family.” I smiled. “I think he’s spent a lifetime trying to keep me out of trouble for my father’s sake. He borrowed the caravan from someone in Dublin.”
“Along with the parrot, I presume.” Terrence regarded me for a moment. Then he said, “Do you know that he’s in love with you, Bess?”
I could feel myself blushing to the roots of my hair, my face suddenly quite warm.
“Thank you for the compliment, but he’s like the son my father never had. An unofficially adopted brother.”
Terrence shook his head. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes, when he thinks no one notices. I’ve had to hide my own feeling for Eileen for a very long time. I know what it’s like. I know the signs. I know the ache when I see it.”
I could only stare at him.
“Do you care for him at all?” he asked, curious now.
“I—” My voice failed me. I’d known it for some time. Only I hadn’t been able to face it. Simon had been my friend for so long. I hadn’t ever wanted to lose that. I’d wanted to stay with QAIMNS not only for the wounded, but also to save me from having to make any decisions about a future I couldn’t have. My father cared for him like a son—how could I do anything that might interfere with that?
He smiled, and it was with warmth and understanding. And a longing for something he himself could never have.
“He’s a damned lucky man.”
And he was gone.
I stood there, facing the door, for the longest time. Unaware of the tears rolling down my cheeks until I could taste the salt on my lips.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I wished I’d had the forethought to hand the sack of medicines back to Terrence to be taken to Maeve. Simon would know what to do with them, and I wasn’t quite ready to face anyone at the moment.
There was a very good reason for that, of course.
Terrence had been right about something else. We needed to leave. Whoever these people were behind what was happening in Killeighbeg, they were dangerous. If they intended to blow up a British post, there would be all kinds of repercussions, and I didn’t wish to see Michael or the Major caught up in that or any legal aftermath. I didn’t want to see Niall caught up in this either. What I’d learned about him surprised me, but I didn’t think he was lying to his grandmother. It was too deeply personal, what he’d said to her.
How to go about leaving? That was the problem. Could Terrence find a larger boat that would hold all of us until we were safely away? And how in heaven’s name were we to get the Major to it? Michael would find it hard enough going, but his will would probably forbid him to admit to any weakness.
The donkeys again?
I needed to speak to Simon and to Ellis, to gauge just how serious his injuries were. We could kill him, if we weren’t careful, even as we tried to save him.
Why did Terrence have to tell me that?
I dreaded going to Maeve’s room, I dreaded having to face Simon until I had faced myself.
Eventually, the part of me that had come down from that many-greats-grandmother, the one who had danced the night away in Belgium, to keep the French from guessing that Wellington was marching to stop them at Waterloo, even when her own husband had slipped away to join his regiment, rose to scold me. She had put a good face on her personal pain and pretended that all was well. She had recognized her duty, and she’d carried it out with aplomb. My many-greats-grandfather had survived, although days had passed before she could be sure of that.
I collected the bundle that Terrence was to throw into the sea, opened my door, and looked both ways, then crossed the passage to tap at Maeve’s door.
She had been talking to Terrence, and he looked grave as I walked in.
“These are yours,” I said. “The sooner the better.”
�
�Yes, right. Thanks.”
“What’s happened?”
“The Major doesn’t look very well,” he said.
“I’ve come to see how he’s feeling. But it would help to know how soon do we hope to leave? I must prepare him.” It was rather like having to move the wounded before a German push that was sure to overrun our sector. Ambulances lining up, doctors doing their best to stabilize the most seriously wounded, Sisters guiding the stretchers out of the tents and into the ambulance, and the fighting rushing closer to us. Only this time I had only two wounded, but no ambulance.
“Tomorrow night. I daren’t leave it any longer.”
I turned to Maeve. “In a bit, could you call Eileen to help you with something—something simple but necessary, so that she’s not suspicious? I need to speak to Michael, to prepare him for what’s to come.” Frowning, I remembered something. “He was staying somewhere in the village, wasn’t he? What’s become of his things—valise, clothing, papers?”
“I brought them here and put them in my room to start, when he first went missing. Then I stowed them in the attic, not knowing what else to do with them. We hadn’t told his family when he went missing. It seemed rather cruel to tell them anything until we had a body.”
Relieved, I nodded.
“Bess—there won’t be much room in the boat. You’ll have to leave nearly everything behind. Put it in the attic, I’ll send it later. Only what is absolutely necessary goes with you.”
I hadn’t considered that. “All right. I’ll speak to Michael. He’ll know if there are any papers he needs. But what about Eileen?”
“I’ll see to her things,” Maeve volunteered. “I know what matters to her—and what papers she’ll want.” She looked at Terrence. “That small portrait of her father. That must go. Whatever else stays.”
“We’ll put everything into a waterproof bag. All right.” He picked up the bundle again. “I must go.”
“Your arm?” I asked.
“It will do,” he said, and then was gone.
He’d left his horse by the kitchen passage. Standing by Maeve’s windows, I watched him mount and turn back toward the stables, as if taking the horse back there.
I went to the door, preparing to leave.
“You aren’t looking in on the Major?”
“Oh—yes.” I turned, and went to knock on the other door, before opening it.
Simon rose from a chair by the bed.
“Did you speak to Terrence?”
“Yes, I’ve come to see for myself.”
But after examining Ellis, I stood there looking down at him, worried.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s as much exhaustion as it is injury. They could have forced him to stay awake, no sleep, questioning him constantly.” I reached down and touched Ellis’s shoulder.
He flinched, jerking away from my touch. Saying his name, I said, “Can you hear me? Ellis, it’s Bess.”
It was several seconds before he opened his eyes. I could read the alarm in them. “Bess? For God’s sake, get out of here—before they come back.”
He’d been held by two men. And two men had been watching over him—Simon and Terrence. We’d kept the light in the room dim enough not to disturb him. With his bruised eyes, he must have seen only shadows moving about.
I said, “They’re friends, Ellis. I trust them. You’re safe now.”
“This isn’t my room—”
“No. We couldn’t take you there, it wasn’t safe. Maeve—the younger Mrs. Flynn—let us use her bedroom. Shall I call her? Let you see for yourself?”
There was a long sigh from the man in the bed. “Bess—are you certain—?”
I beckoned to Simon, who had moved back when I’d begun my examination.
“Major Dawson? May I present Sergeant-Major Brandon?” And I gave him the regiment.
“Hello, sir,” Simon said, coming to the bed and reaching for Ellis’s good hand. “Sorry to meet you in such circumstances. But they will be improving shortly. You can trust Sister Crawford. She’s used to getting the wounded out of tight spots.”
Ellis squinted to see him more clearly. “Thank you, Sergeant-Major. Happy to have you on my side. Now if you’ll forgive me, I think I need to sleep.” He closed his eyes and drifted away from us.
“Is he delirious?” Simon asked.
“He’s not terribly feverish. But I think he held out through what must have been unrelenting pain. Not in expectation of rescue, but hoping they would kill him when they tired of trying to break him. It must be very difficult for his mind to accept that he doesn’t have to fight any longer.”
“He’s been lucid before.”
“Not with any consistency. Not enough to shock his mind into the present. He may have thought he was hallucinating.”
“I don’t like the idea of scuttling out of here, leaving those bas—men unpunished for what they’ve done.”
“We can see to that once we’re out of Ireland. Getting out is going to be difficult. Terrence says tomorrow night. We can only take what’s important. Nothing more. I haven’t been in the Major’s room yet. Tonight I’ll try.”
“Leave it to me when the house is asleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m going mad myself, shut up in here.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Just don’t run afoul of Granny. She’s in a terrible mood.”
He didn’t return the smile. “Maeve told me there were angry words in the kitchen.”
I gave him a brief account of what had happened.
“Terrence is right. The sooner you’re out of this country, the better.”
“I need to see if I can make a broth that he can drink. He’s had no food, Simon. But I can never seem to find the kitchen empty. I’m going to tell them it’s for Maeve. But what about you?”
“Terrence brought sandwiches from the village where he bought the bandages.”
“Good.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say or do, and so I left.
There was the bone from the roast, and I chopped the meat as finely as I could, then cooked them together with some vegetables from dinner as well.
I was just making sure it was fine enough to feed to him and not choke him when Eileen opened the door and asked, “That’s a lovely smell. What is it?”
“Broth for your mother. She’s not ready for a full meal.”
“Oh, can I have a little for Michael?”
“He should have more than broth. Look in the pantry and make him a hearty sandwich.”
I don’t think she was best pleased, but she went in there, came back with bread and meat, made the sandwiches, then took them with a cup of tea back to her husband.
An hour later, I had what I needed, a broth that could be thinned with a little wine, or taken as it was.
Pouring it into a pitcher, I took it up the back stairs and gave it to Maeve.
“Simon can help you hold up his head. Only a little bit at a time, mind. And don’t let him choke.” I gave her a large spoon and several tea towels I’d taken from a drawer.
“Don’t you want to help?”
“I have other things on my list,” I told her, and left.
My opportunity to speak to Michael came an hour later. And it wasn’t Maeve who drew Eileen away. I was in my room when I heard the familiar thump! of Mrs. Flynn’s cane, pounding on the floor for someone to come at once.
I opened my door a little and finally heard Eileen running up the stairs as the pounding went on.
“Granny?” I heard her call as she went into her grandmother’s rooms, and I took the chance to hurry down to speak to Michael.
“How is the Major?” he asked, one eye on the door to the foyer.
“He’s not well, but we hope to leave tomorrow night and we’ll have to find a way to get both of you out of the house.”
“I can walk—”
“How far?” I shook my head. “You can’t be sure?”
“I’ll make it,” he said with a fierce certainty, the same strength that had got him to the church to be married, whatever the cost.
I could hear Eileen on the stairs. “Say nothing to her—she’s worried enough.”
“Yes—”
I left and was just sitting at the kitchen table when Eileen came in. “She’d like tea and a sandwich. Is there any cake left?”
“I don’t know. Let me help you.”
We prepared a tray for her grandmother, and as we worked, Eileen asked, “How is my mother? There isn’t anything really wrong, is there?”
“No. Just a little upset. I think she’s been worried about you and about Michael.”
“The Major is dead, isn’t he? There’s been no news—and I haven’t seen anyone searching. Even Michael seems to have given up hope. Who are these people—what did they want with Michael or Ellis?”
“Heaven only knows,” I replied.
“The only thing they have in common is the Army.”
I dropped the knife I was using. “Oh, dear, I expect we’re all out of sorts with worry. Both of them served in the English Army, remember? I expect that’s the reason they were taken. It was the English Army that crushed the Rising.”
Frowning, she said, “I’ll be glad to leave Ireland. There’s so much anger and heartbreak here. I thought I’d miss Granny, but she’s been so cruel to Michael. I’ll miss Terrence. He’s always been there to look after me. Niall teased me, but Terrence protected me. He’s a good man.”
I said only, “My dear, it hasn’t been the happiest wedding, has it? I am so sorry for that. You deserved better.”
She started to cry. “You don’t know how I felt when he came out of the shadows. I thought he was a ghost—I thought I’d conjured him up because I wanted so badly for him to be there, to marry me. Then I realized that everyone else had seen him too, and I touched him, and there was living flesh under my fingertips. Oh God, if I live to be as old as my grandmother, I won’t forget how that felt. Now I just want to go, to break my ties with Ireland, and try to learn how to deal with the future.”