When they had all simmered down a bit, and there was just the occasional chuckle around the table, Patrick filled in the story from when he had left. He had managed to get through with his message, and as soon as the surrender happened, he had been summarily arrested along with the rest of them. But there wasn’t much space in the local barracks for the detention of dangerous rebels, so the constabulary had been looking for ways to weed out some of the prisoners for release. Patrick, being young and wounded, was one of the first to be let go.
He had been given the name of a safe house near by, and he had made his way there and lain low. Although he was in the clear, having been released from custody, he felt he would be best keeping out of sight until his wound had healed. In the first place, he didn’t want to draw the attention of the authorities on himself, and then he was afraid of the local people, too, so strong was the initial reaction against the Rising. When the executions started he was sickened with grief and rage, but then the tide of opinion began to change, and he felt safe to show himself. Then, when the arm had finally healed, he had thought it time to come and set Mary Ann’s mind at rest, and of course to return the greatcoat.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Ma’am?’ Patrick turned to Amelia’s mother.
‘About the coat?’
‘No, not just about the coat. About me coming here at all. About me being here that night. About the trouble we might have caused you and your family. We know you don’t agree with our politics.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I’m glad I slept through it all, but even if I hadn’t, I would of course have been pleased to help a person in trouble, regardless of the politics of the situation.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am. You’re very good. But it’s really Amelia I need to thank for all she did for me that night. I brought something for you, Amelia. Just a moment, I think I left it in my – I mean, the – coat pocket.’
He went out to the hall and returned in a moment with a smallish package, which he held out to Amelia.
‘I couldn’t return your shawl, which you gave me for a sling,’ he said. ‘It’s in shreds by now.’
‘Oh, that old thing!’ said Amelia, tugging at the string.
‘So I brought you this in its place. I hope you like it.’
Out of the folds of brown paper fell a soft shawl of the finest wool, so fine it looked like linen, but softer than any linen could possibly be. It was a deep, deep royal blue, so blue it was almost purple.
‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ exclaimed Amelia, and she shook it out. Out of its folds shone a searing gash of sunshine yellow, streaking diagonally across the shawl. ‘Oh!’ said Amelia again. ‘It’s beautiful. The colours are so wonderful. It’s just like an iris.’
About the Author
SIOBHÁN PARKINSON lives in Dublin (very near the road where this novel is set), with her woodturner husband Roger Bennett and her son, Matthew, who acts as her personal proofreader. She has won many awards for her books, which have been translated into many languages: French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, Danish, Japanese, Latvian. Siobhán is one of Ireland’s best-known and finest writers of literature for children.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 1994
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–486–4
Copyright for text © Siobhán Parkinson 1994
Copyright for typesetting, layout, cover design © The O’Brien Press Ltd.
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Parkinson, Siobhán
No Peace for Amelia
I. Title
823.914 [J]
The O’Brien Press receives
assistance from
Editing, typesetting, layout, design: The O’Brien Press Ltd.
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