Children of Fire

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Children of Fire Page 25

by Paul CW Beatty


  Michael moved forward on his chair. ‘The surgeon thought that there might have been permanent damage done to your shoulder. Can you move your arm?’

  Josiah shook his head. ‘I can’t even move my fingers.’ Rachael stood up and quietly stroked Josiah’s forehead. ‘Is that a bad sign?’ he said to her. ‘Tell me the truth for I will only imagine the worst.’

  ‘It is likely that you will never be able to use that arm again,’ said Michael.

  Josiah was shocked but tried to put on a brave face. ‘At least I am still alive thanks to you my friends.’ He paused before going on.

  ‘What happened to Phelan?’

  ‘With the help of a local smith we shackled him and the barge crew together and Bridges marched them back to the powder mill. They had to leave Peter out all night but retrieved him and the wagon in time for Sergeant Smith to turn up at the Mill with some men and drag them all back to Stockport.

  ‘The barge and butty were put under guard by soldiers from Stockport armoury. Mr Prestbury had sent them after receiving a message from Sergeant Smith that he was going to arrest Phelan with a detachment of police.

  ‘And that is all I think you can cope with for now,’ said Rachael. ‘Rest some more and you might be able to have some more food later if you feel up to it. In the meantime, I need to tell the surgeon that you are conscious so he can examine your arm.’

  ‘One last question. Where is Aideen’s body?’

  Michael and Rachael looked at each other. She spoke. ‘Her body was kept in the stables at the Navigation until the inquest but when that was over. I begged the coroner to allow me to take charge of her since there is no family, even in Ireland. Her and Phelan’s father died three years ago and there is no one else.’ She looked slightly embarrassed and fidgeted with the edge of her apron. ‘I also felt that it might be important to you.’

  ‘She is in Steven Hailsworth’s icehouse on his estate,’ said Michael. ‘The community have agreed to bury her as an act of Christian charity, there being no church or burial ground that will take her.’

  Josiah asked a few more questions but tiredness overcame him and he started to fall asleep. They made him comfortable and then left him in peace.

  Josiah’s strength returned quite steadily as he ate and slept normally. Two days later he asked Rachael if he might get up. She thought carefully.

  ‘Yes you may, but only for an hour or two to sit in the sun. How about after you have had some food at midday?’

  She was good as her word. After bread, meat and tea, Brother James came upstairs to join Rachael and under their watchful eyes, Josiah got out of bed and stood up under his own steam. Standing up he was dizzy and felt weak but the main problem was his left-arm. It hung limp and useless, contributing nothing to helping him balance. He looked down at it sadly.

  ‘Mmm, I supposed that might be a problem.’ She went downstairs and came back with a large square of white linen.

  ‘James, can you see if you can find a walking stick for Josiah, I think there’s an old one of Elijah’s somewhere in the barn. It will give him more confidence when he has to try the stairs.’

  She made the linen into a triangle and, tying the corners together, passed the loop over Josiah’s neck. Then she took the lifeless arm and passed it gently through so that the triangle formed the perfect sling. She was close to him and as she smoothed out the cloth, her hair brushed his cheek. He could not bear the sensation and looked away. In his mind and emotion she stood simultaneously for herself and for Aideen. He felt ashamed of his selfish emotional confusion between them.

  She saw him look away. ‘Do not worry, Josiah. You must grieve for her. It is natural. But things can change. Look.’ She placed her hand on his check and gently turned his head round so he was looking into her eyes. ‘Do not move or try to embrace me, I am not ready for that,’ then she kissed him full on the lips as her hand caressed his cheek. ‘Even pistol rounds can trigger feelings that offer all sorts of healing,’ she whispered before stepping back and finishing the sling.

  ‘Now I know you cannot feel anything in the arm but trust me it is secure against your chest, and will not impede you.’ James came back with the stick.

  With help Josiah clambered down the stairs. There was a bad bruise somewhere on his back, which made it impossible for him to put his feet down more than a single tread at a time. He was also much more dizzy on the stairs than he had been on the flat floor of the bedroom. As a result he went down very painfully and slowly.

  The courtyard was bathed in sunlight. As he came out into the warmth of the sun he saw that all the community were there. When they saw him they broke into clapping and singing.

  Rachael and James steered him through to the paddock where a comfortable seat of hay bales, pillows and a blanket had been made underneath an oak tree. He sat down and looked across the Furness Vale.

  In the distance was the smoke and steam from the Marple kilns, to the south-east more smoke from Arlon’s mill. He could also make out where the gunpowder mill must be.

  But the overwhelming impression was not of industry but of nature, of green trees and fields under a blue sky with occasional white clouds. A valley where peaceful animals grazed and folk moved about their lives undisturbed except for their private concerns and worries. A small brown bird fluttered off the stonewall at the end of field. It hopped along the grass and took off, circling upwards and singing. His arm was damaged and might never move again but he was alive and simply glad to be thankful and praise God.

  He had nodded off under the tree when Rachael’s soft voice woke him.

  ‘Josiah, you have visitors.’ Standing in front of him were Thomas and Martha Cooksley. He tried to get up.

  ‘No, my boy, stay where you are,’ said Thomas. ‘We would have gone without waking you, glad simply to know you were up and on the mend but Sister Rachael insisted. She believed that she would never hear the last of it from you if she did not rouse you to greet us.’

  ‘I will leave you together,’ said Rachael. She turned to Mr Cooksley. ‘If you could spare the time before you leave, I would be grateful if I could ask your help once more. I think I have made my decision but I want to be sure that my reasoning is sound.’

  ‘Of course, Sister,’

  For the next half an hour there was much smiling, holding of hands, kissing of brows, especially by Martha Cooksley, and general signs of relief and gladness. There was very little of serious Methodist discourse.

  ‘I should come home,’ Josiah said at one point.

  ‘Of course we would wish you to come home but we are aware that there are matters you may feel you need to resolve here after such a dreadful ordeal. Come back when the time is right, not just to make us happy. We could not care for you better than Rachael and the community have done and here you have the advantage of good clean air to help your recovery,’ said Thomas.

  ‘How is John?’

  ‘He promises to come later when he has to come the Marple Ridge meeting. He will be bringing many greetings from your friends in the market and several offerings of vegetables, fish and fowl would not surprise me. Now before we go I must speak with Sister Rachael. Do not fret, Josiah. God has looked after you well and he will continue to bless and keep you.’

  After Thomas had left Josiah with Martha, Josiah was able to ask what he had been curious about since he had heard what Rachael had said to his Guardian. ‘What is it that Sister Rachael needs to discuss with father?’

  ‘Mercy me, you always were the most inquisitive child; it is no surprise to me that you turned out to be a good detective. It is a confidential matter between them. All I can say is that I know Sister Rachael has an important decision to make. She and Thomas have got on so well while we have been visiting you, that she asked his advice, which he has been happy to give.

  ‘Now don’t be so over curious. Behave yourself, do not be a nuisa
nce to these good people and above all get better quickly so I can have my chance of making a fuss of you as soon as possible.’

  41

  The Condemned Cell

  Rachael and Josiah stood in front of the wicket gate in the squat round tower at Chester Castle Gaol. They knocked for admittance.

  Josiah was wearing his uniform, with his lifeless arm carefully strapped under the coat and the empty left sleeve tucked into a jacket pocket. Rachael was dressed in her Sunday best, with a black bonnet and dark cloak.

  They had come in response to two letters, one for each of them that had arrived the day before by postal rider. They were from Phelan, awaiting execution in the gaol, requesting they would come to see him.

  The reason Phelan gave for his request to Josiah was so that he could answer any questions the Constable might have about how his and Aideen’s crimes had come about. To Rachael he said he could supply information she might value about Elijah’s life in Ireland and that he wished to ask her forgiveness concerning Elijah’s murder.

  ‘Will you go?’ asked Josiah.

  Rachael hesitated. ‘I think so. I cannot deny a fellow creature making whatever peace he can. Peter is also in the same gaol. It may be I can see him for the last time as well. I will have no other chance.’ She looked very sad as she said this but went on. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I will come with you. I am still not altogether clear about why these crimes were committed. Above all I do not know why he shot me when I was trying to save Aideen.’

  When the gate opened and they were admitted they were shown to the stark cellblock. A prison officer in a blue coat and trousers, with a simple fob cap and a large bunch of keys, introduced himself and showed them into a poorly lit corridor that smelt of urine and excrement. He led them down some stairs to a lower level. There was a distant scream from somewhere above, answered by another much closer, but down on this lower level it was quiet.

  ‘These are the condemned cells,’ said the officer. ‘It tends to be quieter down here than in other areas of the prison.’

  There was an iron gate across the corridor that the officer unlocked and then locked behind them. As far as Josiah could judge, there were about six cells. All had doors of open iron bars. There were high oval windows, also barred, at the far end of each. These windows let in light without affording any view, except of the sky. Below the window was a flat wooden bed, at one end of which was a built in cylindrical wooden pillow.

  ‘Hayes is the only prisoner at present,’ said the officer. He stopped in front of the third cell on the right. ‘You can speak to him from here, you’re not allowed inside. You have half an hour.’ He turned and walked away.

  Phelan was sitting on the bed. His hands we shackled to a chain round his neck. He looked thin and gaunt. When he looked up at them they saw that his eyes were tired and red, with dark rings round them. He was badly shaved and he seemed to have initial difficulty in understanding who they were. It took several seconds for him to recognise them.

  ‘You came,’ he said in flat voice which tailed off. ‘I had thought you would not.’

  ‘We received your letters,’ said Rachael. ‘What do you wish to say to us?’

  ‘It all seemed much more logical when I wrote,’ he said. ‘Now it doesn’t seem to be as clear. It is the darkness that looms and it occupies so many of my thoughts now that I have difficulty thinking of anything else.’

  Josiah could see how the wreckage of the man that she saw before her moved Rachael but she was determined and forced the conversation forward.

  ‘In your letter you told me that you knew something of Elijah’s life in Ireland.’

  ‘I assume you already know he fought with the United Irishmen in the 1804 rebellion under his original name of Fitzgerald?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josiah. ‘We also know you came to Long Clough with your father looking for him.’

  ‘I thought you remembered me when we met at Long Clough. Elijah was one of those who fought after the rebellion was crushed, though it was probably more running and hiding than fighting. I think that he was probably trying to break from the group he was with when he met my mother.’ The vacant look came across his face again but after a moment it passed and he resumed.

  ‘They fell in love but her father had his own history of violence before and after the rebellion and had been responsible for several anti-Catholic attacks. Despite this, about the time Elijah met my mother, her father was being actively canvassed, as a respected protestant loyalist, to lead a new Orange Lodge. Even though Elijah was not a Catholic, when Elijah’s affiliations emerged, my grandfather lay in wait for him one night when he came to the house and took a horse crop to him. He promised my mother that he would do the same or worse to her if she dared see Elijah again.’ Phelan sighed. Again, the blank expression on his face and a second pause before he spoke again.

  ‘But fate had not finished with them. I think Elijah must have been seen visiting my mother so they decided to test his loyalty by forcing him to be involved in setting the fire at my grandfather’s house. The deaths of my mother’s brother and her injuries sickened Elijah and to make sure he could escape completely from the rebel group, he came to England.’

  ‘Her wooing by our father and our births should have ended the bitterness but it simply changed it. Every day they lived my father and mother poured into Aideen’s and my ears the hatred and fear of the rebels. They bred me to be a soldier for the cause, and so I became, but Aideen was prepared from birth to become some sort of avenging angel for the disfigurement of our mother. When mother killed herself she guaranteed Aideen’s fanatical zeal. When she was dead, her sister took over Aideen’s “education” in such matters and in her terms she did a perfect job.’

  ‘Are you a zealot as well?’ asked Rachael.

  ‘No, I am a soldier. I wanted to kill Elijah for what he had done but if left on my own I would simply have called him out and shot him in a duel.’

  ‘But Aideen was different?’

  ‘Yes. She was in many ways a better soldier than I, better rider, better shot, better tactician in the field. I suppose she proved that by being appointed as my senior officer for our task in England. But the fact was she was not so much a better soldier but just much more brutal and resolute than me.’

  Josiah frowned. ‘Had she killed in cold blood before the attack on the powder mill?’

  ‘She did not see it as cold blooded murder but simply a military necessity. But the answer to your question, Constable, was yes. She killed three times in attacks on Catholics before we came here. You were very lucky to survive your encounter with her that day in the wood.’

  Rachael looked at Phelan intensely. ‘What military necessity did the murder of Elijah satisfy?’

  ‘None. In fact you would never have caught us if she had not killed Elijah in that ridiculous manner. Aideen’s anger and passion, combined with my duty to her meant I went along with her plans. It is not forgiveness for killing Elijah I want you to grant me if you can, Sister Rachael, but my part in the manner of his death. It was a blasphemy and I repent it before God.’

  Rachael was squeezing the bars of the cell door hard so that her fingers were white as they had been the night when she had told Josiah of Elijah’s abuse of her in Liverpool but as then she was in control of her feelings. Her voice was steady as she answered Phelan.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Hayes. I understand. I cannot find it within my heart to forgive you at this moment but I will pray that in time forgiveness of you may be possible and will be acceptable to God. I will pray for you.’ She turned, leaning against the door of the next empty cell to be out of Phelan’s view, leaving Josiah a space for his questions.

  ‘What was your primary task in England and who sent you?’ asked Josiah.

  ‘Our primary task was obtain stocks of powder and arms to equip a secret militia in the north of Ireland to a
ttack Catholics.’

  ‘Why did you come to the Furness Vale?’

  ‘By chance. Our first targets were the powder mills in Cumbria. They had the advantage that if we obtained the powder and the arms we could get them away by sea from a number of ports.’

  ‘What went wrong with that plan?’

  ‘The Cumbrian mills are all well established and work closely with the military. We could not hope to intimidate them to make them cooperate. We needed someone new to the business, preferably with an incentive to cut corners.’

  ‘And you met Abram Hailsworth.’

  ‘Aideen spun him along, she enjoyed playing the femme fatale and Abram was easily impressed.’ Just as she played me, thought Josiah.

  ‘When we failed in Cumbria we took the opportunity to place McBrinnie in Steven Hailsworth’s employment, by a combination of threatening and bribing the blacksmith they then had. McBrinnie reported to us regularly and as soon as he told us that Abram had the capacity to supply our needs we came to Long Clough and like two good cuckoos, joined him in his comfortable nest.’

  ‘When did you realise that you had been to Long Clough before with your father?’

  ‘Immediately. I also quickly realised Elijah was Fitzgerald but I did not tell Aideen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of her obsession. I wanted to focus on the main objective of our mission. I knew that once she knew about Elijah she would become blinded by revenge. So it proved.

  ‘Come now once she had turned her femme fatale act on me surely then you must have felt safe?’

  ‘Nearly killing you in the wood she thought would deal with the threat you posed. When she failed she became more subtle and started watching you closely, especially when you were revealed as a policeman.

  ‘Remember when she encountered you on the Long Clough track just after you had visited the powder mill? She had watched you all day and was making sure you did not go back to the mill, while I was there seeing Abram to find out what he had told you.’ Josiah must have looked abashed.

 

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