She made a valiant effort but fell asleep after reading fewer than six pages. When she next woke up, the compartment was dark and Walter was snoring below her. A glance at the small travel clock Walter had set on the narrow shelf beside the beds read 1:37.
Jane got down from the bunk as quietly as she could, found her shoes, and slipped them on. She opened the compartment door and went out into the hallway.
The lights in the corridor had been dimmed for the night, but Jane had no trouble finding her way to the coach car. There the overhead lights had also been turned down, and the car was bathed in shadows. Here and there the glow of an e-book reader or the screen of a laptop cast light on the face of its user, but mostly the passengers slept as the train raced through the night.
Jane walked the length of the car, looking for a suitable candidate. With the majority of the people asleep, she allowed herself more time than she usually did when hunting to look at the possibilities. It felt a bit like perusing the produce section in search of the juiciest peach. This thought amused her, and she had to stifle a giggle. So inappropriate, she admonished herself.
Not seeing anything she liked, she walked into the next car. This one was less crowded, and there were far fewer lights on. In fact, there was only one, and it belonged to a girl who had fallen asleep while listening to her iPod. Encouraged, Jane went from seat to seat, examining the occupants.
She found him in the middle of the car. He was young—she guessed not yet twenty-five. On the seat beside him was a backpack, and open on his lap was a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to Ireland. He looked to be in good shape, and Jane guessed he wouldn’t miss the little bit of blood she was going to take from him.
She moved the backpack from the seat and placed it in the aisle. Then she took the seat beside the boy. Breathing deeply, she focused her mind so that in the event the boy woke up she would be prepared to glamor him. Then she leaned over as if she were asleep beside him, her face nuzzled in his neck.
His blood was delicious. This was not a thought she often had when feeding. It was an activity she loathed, and ordinarily she just wanted to get it over with. But the boy’s blood was undeniably pleasant, sweet and salty at the same time. Like taffy, Jane thought vaguely as she drank.
When she’d had enough, she retracted her fangs and sat up. Her headache had disappeared and her stomach was no longer aching. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes.
Suzu was standing in the aisle, not ten feet away, looking down at her. She was dressed in a black robe embroidered in cream with cranes, which caused her to look like a shadow dappled with moonlight. At first Jane, who couldn’t recall even having seen the woman since the opening night reception, thought she must be imagining it. But then Suzu blinked. Jane froze, her mind racing. How long had Suzu been there? How much had she seen? Was there blood on her face?
She thought quickly. How could she explain what she was doing there? Then, to make matters worse, the young man beside her stirred. He moaned and twisted his face toward her. Before she knew what she was doing, Jane kissed him passionately on the lips. The boy, slowly coming awake, kissed her back.
Jane pulled her mouth away and laughed lightly. “Oh, Esteban,” she said. “You’re so naughty.”
She pretended to see Suzu for the first time. Her hand flew to her mouth in feigned shock. “Suzu!” she said. “This … this … isn’t what it looks like.”
Suzu looked at the boy, who was making kissing movements with his lips as he sought out Jane’s mouth. Jane fended him off, pushing against his chest with her hands.
“Esteban! You wicked thing!” she said.
Suzu tipped her head. “Good night, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said and walked past.
Suzu’s use of what would have been Jane’s married name had she and Walter actually completed the ceremony jarred her. It would have been bad enough had Suzu thought Jane was cheating on her fiancé; to be caught cheating on her husband was even worse.
“No,” she called after Suzu, trying to keep her voice low. “It’s not what you think.”
Suzu disappeared through the door into the next car, leaving Jane alone with the now half-awake boy. He was sitting up, mumbling and kissing the air. His eyes opened and, seeing Jane, he gave her a lopsided smile. “Who are you?” he asked. “And who’s Esteban?”
Jane focused her attention on him. “Go back to sleep,” she commanded. “And don’t remember any of this.”
The boy sank back against the window and began snoring. Jane got up, replaced the backpack on the seat beside him, and followed after Suzu. When she entered the next car, Suzu was nowhere to be seen. She’s certainly a speedy little thing, she thought, quickening her pace.
When she entered the sleeper car she saw a door to one of the compartments opening. Not knowing which room was Suzu’s, she waited to see if she would emerge. Instead, Chumsley exited. He turned around and spoke to someone inside the room.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said angrily.
“Your warning is duly noted,” a man’s voice replied. There was an Irish lilt to it, and Jane immediately thought of Ryan McGuinness.
The door shut and Chumsley turned around. Seeing Jane, he gave a start. “Look at us both up at this ungodly hour,” he said.
“It is quite late,” said Jane.
After an awkward silence of a few seconds Chumsley said, “Well, good night then. See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Jane said as Chumsley moved quickly past her. She watched him go to the other end of the sleeper and open a door there.
She’d forgotten all about Suzu. Now she found herself wondering what Chumsley had been doing in the compartment of his ex-wife’s lover. And what had Chumsley warned Ryan about?
Perhaps I’m not the only one with a secret, she thought.
Chapter 11
Thursday: Ireland
Fortunately for Jane, she was too busy rubbing Walter’s back and speaking to him in soothing tones to worry about what Suzu thought about their encounter the night before. Walter, for his part, was leaning over the railing on the upper deck of the Isle of Inishmore and heaving his breakfast into the choppy waters of St. George’s Channel.
The ferry was only forty-five minutes into its four-hour crossing between Pembroke, Wales, and Rosslare, Ireland. A strong winter storm was causing larger-than-usual waves, and despite the Inishmore’s impressive size the sea was moving her up and down like a toy boat.
Jane was doing her best to be nurturing, but the sound of Walter’s retching, not to mention the scent of vomit, made her feel a bit queasy herself. The scrambled eggs and rashers she’d consumed shortly before boarding were now protesting loudly. Matters were not helped by the fact that Walter was not alone among their party in his misery. Arranged along the rail at polite intervals, Genevieve, Orsino, Enid, and Sam were also delivering up to the gods of the sea offerings of barely digested breakfasts. The remaining guests were huddled in the downstairs lounge.
Brodie was one of the few unaffected by the rough crossing. Strolling along the deck, he sipped from a cup of coffee and whistled “Bollocky Bill the Sailor” in such a cheerful way that those he passed might have shoved him over the rail had they not been otherwise engaged. His gait remained leisurely and smooth, and whenever a swell sent the ferry lurching he corrected himself so that not a single drop of coffee escaped the cup.
“Fine weather we’re having,” he remarked to Jane. Looking down at Walter, whose head was between his arms as he waited for the next bout of nausea to hit, he said, “Don’t worry, mate. Once you’ve got it all out you’ll feel right as rain.”
“You’re handling it rather well,” said Jane as Walter made a choking sound.
“I come from pirate stock,” Brodie said. “Great-great-great-great-grandmother or some such was Auckland Annie. Might be missing a great in there somewhere,” he added, counting on the fingers of his left hand. “Any which way, she sailed with this captain and that captain, until one day
the British captured the ship she was on and tossed her in the nick. That’s where she met Captain Brodie Banks. Handsome fellow. Went to the gallows not long after, but not before old Annie was in the pudding club. Couldn’t hang her in her condition, so they waited nine months until she popped out her little one, gave her a couple of minutes to name the boy, and then showed her the noose. That little boy was my great-great-great-grandfather Brodie Banks.”
Jane, fascinated by the story, forgot all about her own seasickness. “You made that up,” she said.
“God’s honest truth,” said Brodie. “There’s been a Brodie in the family ever since. Or an Olive if there’s no boy in a generation. My mother’s an Olive. That’s why I’m a Pittman and not a Banks.” He paused. “Pity, really. Banks is a much better pirate name.”
“Rawuuublahhh,” said Walter, bringing Jane’s attention back to the matter at hand.
“I see McGuinness has joined the party,” Brodie remarked.
Jane looked over to see Ryan running to the railing, where he positioned himself between Enid and Orsino. His red hair was a bright spot against the dirty gray sky as he leaned over and gagged.
“Serves the cheating bugger right,” said Brodie, chuckling. He looked at Jane. “Pity we can’t just give him a little help over the side the next time she rolls,” he said. “Let old St. George have him with his morning tea.”
Jane, only half listening to him, made a vague noise.
“I leave you to it, then,” said Brodie. “Think I’ll see if there’s any more grilled tomatoes to be had.”
Jane and Walter spent another forty-five minutes at the railing as one by one the other seasick guests departed. Finally Walter felt well enough to walk, and Jane led him through the door and into the warmth of the lounge. There they found Lucy, Ben, and Miriam (with Lilith on her lap). They all looked a bit green in the face, and when a particularly large swell lifted the prow of the ship a collective groan rolled across the room.
“Are we almost there?” Lucy asked.
“Another two and a half hours,” Ben informed her.
“I hate Ireland,” Lucy announced. “I hate Wales. And I really, truly hate St. George and his blasted channel.”
They settled into an uneasy silence as the ferry continued toward Ireland. Eventually the seas grew calmer, and although the sailing wasn’t precisely smooth, it was much better than it had been. When she felt fairly certain he could keep something in his stomach, Jane fetched Walter a ginger ale and some biscuits. He ate the biscuits slowly, taking tiny sips of ginger ale between bites, and when he was finished he looked a great deal more alive than he had all morning.
The skies cleared and the sun came out, and when the Isle of Inishmore finally docked at the port in Rosslare the party was in good spirits. Their luggage was loaded onto a waiting tour bus, and then they were on their way to their destination.
As the day’s site had been chosen by Enid, it was she who briefed them on it. She stood at the front of the bus, her sturdy legs planted firmly and a hand gripping the back of the seat on either side of the aisle. Her hair, thanks to the blustery weather at sea and the fact that she had yet to comb it back into submission, stuck out around her head.
“She looks like something out of Macbeth,” Jane murmured to Lucy.
“Although yesterday’s tour was perhaps mildly interesting to those of you who haven’t seen any of the thousands of homes in Britain exactly like the vicarage at Cripple Minton,” Enid began, looking pointedly at Chumsley, who was painstakingly removing the cellophane from a butterscotch candy, “today you will see something utterly unique.”
Crinkle—crinkle-crinkle went the wrapper on the butterscotch.
“Swichninny Castle is a medieval castle,” said Enid. “In that respect it looks very much like most medieval castles.”
Chumsley popped the butterscotch into his mouth and bit down with a loud crunch. “Pardon,” he said loudly. “Didn’t mean to be rude.”
Enid narrowed her eyes. “What distinguishes Swichninny from other castles of its kind is its unusually fine barbican, complete with murder holes and arrow slits, as well as the tallest keep of any castle in Ireland.”
“How tall is it?” Chumsley asked, sucking loudly on the butterscotch.
She glared at him. “I don’t know precisely,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I’m only wondering,” said Chumsley, “because I’ve always been of the impression that at fifty-two meters the donjon of Château de Vincennes is the tallest keep.”
“I believe you are correct about the height of the donjon of Château de Vincennes,” Enid said. “However, as Château de Vincennes is in France, it can hardly have the tallest keep in all of Ireland.”
Chumsley crunched the butterscotch. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I must have misunderstood you.”
“You usually do,” said Enid. “Now as I was saying …”
The rest of her speech was a blur to Jane: moat this and curtain wall that, machicolations and lower baileys and main baileys and hoardings and battered plinths, on and on and on until the words meant absolutely nothing. Jane was far more interested in the back of Suzu’s head. The woman was seated three rows ahead of Walter and Jane, next to Sam Wax. She and Jane had said nothing more than good morning to each other all day, and Jane was going mad wondering if she should attempt to discuss the matter with the woman. Of course there really was nothing to discuss, at least nothing that would in any way portray Jane as anything other than a wanton. She could hardly deny kissing the young man, as she had made such a show of it, and telling the truth was out of the question. She supposed she could claim to have been drunk (which was no better, really) or out of her mind on cold medication (she practiced sniffling, but knew it was hopeless). Ultimately, however, she had to accept that Suzu now had something on her—even if what she thought she knew was much less disturbing than the actual truth—and behave accordingly.
In short, she would have to take pains not to commit any further offense to Suzu’s sensibilities. She had no reason to think the woman would mention what she’d seen to Walter, but she had been deferential to him on that first night and there was no telling what designs she might have on him. Thinking about it, Jane decided that she should be offended at Suzu’s behavior. Flirting with him right in front of me! she thought, attempting to work up a bit of self-righteous indignation. But it was no good. She was just going to have to hope that Suzu kept quiet.
When the bus arrived at Swichninny, Miriam took Lilith for a walk along the moat that encircled the castle while the others clustered around Enid to begin the guided tour. Ben, Lucy, and Jane joined them, as by this point everyone was treating them as if they were part of the group anyway. Jane took Walter’s hand, feeling only slightly guilty that the affection was in part designed to show Suzu that there was nothing fragile about their relationship.
Enid proved to be quite a good guide, explaining in great detail the workings of the portcullis and drawbridge yet managing to nimbly skirt the line between interesting and tedious. She plumbed the depths of her knowledge of medieval stonecutting while describing the construction of the walls, and even entertained them with a bit of scatological trivia when explaining that in the days of the castle’s occupation its inhabitants would have hung some of their garments in the primitive toilets—or garderobes—because the stench kept moths away from the finery.
Because Enid was such a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge on the castle and its charms, Jane was almost, but not quite, saddened when the official tour ended and they were allowed to go exploring on their own. She found it most interesting that the majority of participants headed immediately for the castle’s dungeon, where Enid assured them all manner of cruelties had been committed against prisoners of war. Jane herself, loath to encounter any vengeful or peevish spirits that might still be lingering there, chose instead to climb with Walter the 299 stone steps that led to the top of the castle’s notoriously tall keep.
&
nbsp; The view from atop the tower really was spectacular, although Jane wished they were visiting a little later in the year, when the surrounding countryside would no doubt be swathed in emerald splendor instead of looking as if someone had tossed a brown wool blanket over it. Still, the beauty all around them was undeniable. The sky was blue and cloudless, there was no wind, and Jane could easily imagine herself standing there searching the hills for her returning love, who of course would be riding a white stallion, its mighty hooves churning up the grass as it brought her man home to her.
“Look,” Walter said, pointing. “There’s my mother. She looks like a bug from up here.”
“And there goes that fantasy,” Jane said under her breath as her stallion turned into a three-legged Chihuahua and her knight raced off to see what his mother wanted.
They were not alone on top of the keep. Several other people, including Sam, Orsino, and Ryan, were there. Suzu too was up there, taking pictures with what looked to be an original Kodak Brownie camera. Fortunately, the space was quite large, and because the central part was taken up by the rounded covering of the stairwell, it was possible to be on any side of the keep and be invisible to all the other sides. Occasionally Jane and Walter would encounter someone while taking a walk around all four sides of the tower, but never did they feel crowded.
On their second time around they ran into Sam. “Hey,” she said. “This place is something, isn’t it? All it needs is some flying monkeys and a wicked witch.”
Walter laughed. “I’ll get you, my pretty,” he said in a very bad imitation of Margaret Hamilton’s famous character. “And your little dog too.”
This time it was Sam who laughed. Jane, feeling left out, heard herself say, “Maybe the Wizard can give me a soul.”
Walter and Sam looked at her as she realized what she’d said. “I mean a brain,” she said. “Ha ha!”
“Anyway,” Sam said, “I was thinking about going down to take a look at the armory. “Any interest?”
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