Nell

by Jeanette Baker

  Frankie stared at her burning cheeks for a long moment. “Don’t fret it, Jilly. Y’ meant no harm. My da’s joints act up in the rain. It takes longer for him t’ finish up.”

  “Oh.” She thought a moment. “Maybe Nell and I could help him, too.”

  “Who is Nell?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Frankie nodded in the direction of the house. “Y’r mother wouldn’t like it.”

  Jilly laughed. “Mum won’t mind. She lets me do anything I want.”

  Frankie looked incredulous. None of the women he knew shared Lady Fitzgerald’s philosophy of mothering. “What about your da and Nell’s mother?”

  “Nell doesn’t have a mother.” Jilly sat down on a bale of hay and crossed her legs beneath her. “My father won’t care, either. I don’t see him much.”

  Again, Frankie was shocked at her cavalier attitude toward authority. Imagine not seeing your father, not bumping into him around every corner, in the too-small kitchen, on the way to the loo, in the tiny bedroom where they shared a mattress so as to give Kathleen the privacy a girl needed. What kind of life was it where a little girl never saw her da? He looked at her again, racking his brain for another excuse to be rid of her. Not that he wasn’t grateful. But it terrified him to think of yesterday’s scene. She could have been killed, and he would have been blamed. He knew the fight was his own fault. It wasn’t unusual to expect that a tenant lend an occasional hand in the stables. Frankie liked horses, especially the way their coats gleamed in the sunlight and the soft, velvety feel of their nostrils against his palm. But he wouldn’t lift a finger for Terrence Fitzgerald. Jilly’s brother was a braggart and a bully.

  Those character flaws in themselves weren’t enough to arouse the flame of Frankie’s temper. It went deeper than that. He didn’t trust Terrence, not since he’d seen him talking with Kathleen out by the henhouse. There wasn’t a reason in the world for a girl who scrubbed latrines to be talking with a boy who would inherit half of County Down.

  Kathleen said he’d brought a message from the housekeeper, but Frankie doubted if Terrence Fitzgerald even knew he had one. He was an aristocrat, born into old wealth, one of those who assumed his clothing would be automatically pressed, his sheets changed, and his Christmas dinner served hot and on time without once considering the men and women who left their own families to meatless meals while they trudged through bogs and along dirt roads to perform domestic services for the pitiful wages that kept them a hair’s breadth on the other side of starvation.

  Kathleen was sixteen, with a red-cheeked, full-figured appeal that made grown men turn around for a second look. Terrence wasn’t grown, and although Frankie couldn’t be sure, he didn’t think Terrence was much to look at, either. But he was the Fitzgerald heir, and for Kathleen, who had nothing to look forward to but a husband who would spend half his life on the dole, he was pure gold.

  When Frankie hinted that Terrence might want something more than she was prepared to give, Kathleen brushed aside his warning with an evasive shrug, insisting that it wasn’t like that. He gave up when his father called him a “meddlesome lad gettin’ too big for his breeches.” Who was he to put the fear of God into Kathleen when her own father wouldn’t? He only hoped they wouldn’t all live to regret it. Meanwhile, he continued to regard Terrence with suspicion, which led to the scene yesterday morning.

  Jilly was looking at him, her eyes wide on his face, waiting to be told what to do. She was a strange little mite, all eyes and hair and legs, with the patience to sit still for extended periods of time. It was her patience that intrigued Frankie. In his world, the young weren’t patient. They were too busy scrubbing and washing and cooking and birthing and scratching to make ends meet. Only old men who’d earned their time in the sun were patient, and young men who spent their Friday dole in the pubs and were loath to go home.

  Frankie knew Lady Fitzgerald wouldn’t approve, but he saw no way out other than to hurt the tike’s feelings, and he didn’t want to do that. “You can help me, if you like.”

  She clapped her hands. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Come into town with me to the chemist. We’re out of gauze and disinfectant.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t need me for that.”

  “I do,” he lied. “Da’s not here yet, and the chemist won’t give me the supplies without an order.”

  Jilly tilted her head as if to gauge the validity of his request. Frankie held his breath. All at once, it seemed very important that she come with him.

  She nodded. “All right.”

  He grinned. There was something different about this child. She relaxed him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but for some reason his throat didn’t freeze up around Jilly.

  She smiled and clapped her hands when he pulled his bicycle away from the shed and lifted her up in front of him. She weighed almost nothing, and after an experimental turn around the yard, Frankie found his balance, and they were off.

  Jilly had never ridden sidesaddle on a bicycle before, and Frankie offered no instruction. Reaching behind her back, she gripped the handlebars, braced herself, and held on. Within minutes, she was acclimated to the rhythmic bumping. The wind stung her cheeks and tangled her hair, and when the driver of a huge tractor waved them past, she laughed out loud and unlocked one hand to wave back. Soon she was chattering away as if she’d known Frankie for years, completely undaunted by his silence. She knew he was there behind her, steadily pumping. That was enough.

  The tiny town of Kilvara was nearly five kilometers away. As in most Irish villages, there was only one main road through the center with small shops and houses built up to the street. It was market day, and farmers from all over County Down had brought their sheep in for the auction. The street was a river of white wool, and all traffic had come to a complete and frustrating stop. Frankie pulled up his bicycle, and Jilly hopped off, rubbed her backside, and looked around expectantly. She had never been to town on market day. “It’s really quite nice, isn’t it?” she confided to Frankie. “All the noise and the people and the colors and the lovely smells. Does this happen every Wednesday?”

  “Aye.” Frankie’s head was reeling. He had never met anyone who talked as much without requiring an answer. She’d commented on the wildflowers, the condition of the road, the tractor, the white aprons covering the haystacks in the fields, the weather, the late-model sports car that had passed them on the road, the feel of the sun on her face, and, most unusual of all, she required nothing of him except his presence. It was as if they’d come to a mutual understanding. He would do whatever needed to be done, and she would provide the entertainment.

  Frankie grinned. She was an entertaining little thing, with her quaint observations, her lack of self-consciousness, and her wide hazel eyes. He felt as if he’d known her forever. “Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. “We’ll leave the bike and wade through the sheep to the chemist. Hold on tight, and don’t let ’em knock you down.”

  All of which was more easily said than done. Frankie’s hand was a lifeline to which Jilly clung at all costs. At any moment, she felt that her arm would be ripped from its socket as she bumped and shoved her way through the moist, scratchy bodies of mewling sheep. Urea fumes crawled up her nose and stung her watery eyes. Bodies stepped on her toes and knocked against her, throwing her over woolly, wriggling backs. Each time she stumbled, Frankie tightened his grip, lifting her to her feet, pulling her along, until the next time. It seemed a lifetime before she was on the other side of Kilvara’s narrow main road. Panting, she swayed slightly and wiped her sweaty forehead. As if he’d done it every day of his life, Frankie’s arm curved around her back. She sagged against him, grateful for the support.

  “Hey, Frankie, where y’ been?” a voice ca
lled out over the noise. “Father Quinlan says it’s y’r turn at mass on Sunday.”

  Casually, Frankie dropped his arm from around Jilly and turned to see Sean Peterson leaning in the doorway of O’Malley’s Pub. “It’s y’r turn, and y’ know it,” he said. “I altared last week.”

  Sean grinned and shook his head. “It’s Gracie’s weddin’ in Newry. You’ll have to take my place.”

  Two more boys walked out from the darkened shadows of the pub. Frankie groaned and muttered something Jilly couldn’t hear under his breath.

  “Who’s the girl, Frankie?” Tommy Dougherty asked, swaggering out to the street to stare at Jilly. “A bit young, isn’t she? What’s y’r name, lass?”

  Frankie scowled. “Leave her alone, Tommy.”

  “I only want her name.”

  Jilly hesitated. She didn’t like the looks of the boy with the shocking red hair. Under the enormous brown freckles, his skin appeared unnaturally white, as if he’d been ill for a long time. “My name is Jillian Fitzgerald,” she said quietly.

  Tommy Dougherty pushed back his cap and scratched his head. She was lying. Jillian Fitzgerald would not ride into Kilvara with the likes of Frankie Maguire. “And where do y’ live, Jillian Fitzgerald, that we’ve never seen y’ before today?”

  “Down the road,” she said vaguely. Jilly wanted to leave. Tommy Dougherty had an insolent mouth and eyes set very close together. She looked at Frankie, but he made no move at all.

  “Where down the road?” Tommy’s voice taunted her.

  “Down the road at Kildare.” Jilly tried to walk around him, but he blocked her path.

  “Where at Kildare?”

  Jilly felt the familiar churning in her stomach and knew what it meant. Easy, Jilly. Nell’s voice soothed her.

  Frankie was staring at her oddly. “I live at Kildare Hall,” she announced loudly, “and I want you to get out of my way.”

  Tommy Dougherty never knew exactly how he happened to land in the street square on his bum. All he remembered was that his jaw exploded in pain, and then he was on the ground surrounded by sheep. Frankie’s face was very close, and when he spoke, his voice was hard and cold like the knife Tommy’s da used for butchering pigs. “She’s Jillian Fitzgerald of Kildare Hall,” he said, “and she’s a wee lass who’s come with me to town. That’s enough, I think.”

  Tommy stared up at Frankie’s thin brown face, read the message in his eyes, and nodded. “Sorry, Frankie,” he mumbled.

  “It’s not me y’ should be apologizin’ to.”

  Nodding miserably, Tommy swallowed. “Sorry, lass. I was just havin’ a bit o’ fun. No harm meant.” He smiled tentatively. “Would y’ like a squash from the bar?”

  Jillian smiled, all unpleasantness forgotten at the thought of the fizzy orange drink sliding down her parched throat. “Oh, yes, please. Can we, Frankie? Do we have time?”

  Frankie hesitated, imagining the scene were any of the Fitzgeralds to learn of Jilly’s whereabouts. But then he remembered the uglier scene they’d just come away from and decided it was better to leave Jilly with memories of a free squash from the pub. “Aye,” he said, “we have time.”

  When Frankie went up to the bar to order the drinks, Sean went with him. “What are y’ doin’ mindin’ the earl’s daughter?” he asked.

  Frankie shrugged. “She’s all right.”

  “She’s a baby.”

  “Aye.” Frankie threw forty pence on the counter and picked up two of the bottles.

  Sean dug into his pocket for exact change and pulled out half a crown. “Frankie, what’re y’ doin’ wastin’ y’r time with the likes o’ her?”

  Frankie made his way through the tables. “I’m not wastin’ time, Sean. Jilly’s a wee lass who loves animals, that’s all.”

  “Y’ knocked Tommy int’ the dirt.”

  “Tommy’s a wanker. Jilly’s nothin’ to me.”

  Sean released his breath. “I hope so, Frankie. She’s not only a baby, she’s a Prod. Don’t be forgettin’ that.”

  Frankie handed Jilly her drink and slid into the chair beside her. “I’m not forgettin’ a thing, Sean. Don’t be worryin’ about me. Y’ know where my mind is.”

  Jilly sipped her drink and spoke up. “Frankie’s going to be a veterinarian when he grows up, and I am, too. I’m going to help him.”

  Frankie’s cheeks reddened. Deliberately, he avoided the astonished stares of his friends. “Now, don’t be goin’ around sayin’ that, Jilly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bbb-bbb”—he struggled for the words—“bbb-bbbe—” He gave up, exasperated. Whenever he most needed them, the words failed him. “You don’t understand,” he managed at last. “Things can change.”

  Jilly understood all too well. Frankie Maguire was ashamed of her. She stared into her drink, stirring the liquid with her straw, wishing she were home.

  Frankie saw her lip tremble and hated himself. She was just a wee lass, and he’d hurt her feelings. But he couldn’t have the lads thinking there was anything more to his relationship with Jilly than a trip into town. A rumor like that would cause no end of trouble. Sucking down the last of his squash, he stood up. “Come on, Jilly.”

  They were nearly home before Frankie remembered the chemist. He was too preoccupied with his own ineptness and her lack of conversation to remember what they’d gone into the village for in the first place. Cursing softly, he pushed back on the pedals to stop the bike. Unprepared for the sudden braking, Jilly tumbled from the handlebars and hit the ground, hard.

  Frankie whitened and dropped the bike to kneel beside her in the grass. “Lord, Jilly, I’m sorry. Are y’ hurt, lass?”

  She shook her head and turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. But Frankie wouldn’t be dissuaded. Taking her chin in his hand, he gently turned her head. “You are hurt.” His gray eyes filled with remorse. “I’m an idiot. I forgot the chemist, that’s why. Can y’ walk, Jilly?”

  Nodding, she stood and limped over to the bike. Frankie groaned. Jilly’s silence was worse than a thousand humiliations. “I’m sorry, lass.”

  “It was an accident,” she said woodenly.

  “I’m sorry for what I said at the pub.”

  She turned and looked at him steadily, a small, wraithlike figure with too-long legs and a curtain of silky, brown-gold hair.

  “I was afraid they’d make somethin’ out of it that wasn’t.”

  Her forehead puckered. “What do you mean?”

  Frankie sighed. She wasn’t making this easy for him. “Y’re not old enough t’ understand this, Jilly, but sometimes people my age are more than just friendly with girls. I didn’t want anyone to think that about us. Y’re too young, and even if y’ weren’t, it isn’t possible.” He paused. The puzzled look hadn’t left her face. “Do y’ understand what I’m sayin’, lass?”

  She didn’t. But Nell would. Nell was smarter and older. “Don’t you want to be a veterinarian with me?” she ventured.

  His shoulders slumped. She was too innocent for words, and he was disgusted with himself. Jilly was only eleven years old. Of course she wouldn’t know what he was hinting at. “Never mind. Let’s get y’ home and ice that ankle. Maybe if I’m lucky, my da will still have a job in the mornin’.”

  Three

  Maynooth, 1537

  He was staring at her. Nell could feel his gaze from across the banquet hall. She turned to smile at him, tried to look away, and found that she could not. For the space of their exchange, it seemed that the room narrowed and shortened, the torches dimmed, the crowd silenced until it was just the two of them connected by a power source that neither could explain nor control.

  She was the first to break eye contact. The mere act sapped her strength. She swayed and leaned against the man beside her.
>
  Garrett Fitzgerald looked down at his niece and slipped his arm around her waist. “Tired, Nell?”

  She shook her head. “Lord Grey came all the way from Dublin to speak with Father. I won’t be able to sleep unless I know the reason.”

  Garrett hesitated. “Go to bed, Nell. We won’t know anything until tomorrow.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Donal O’Flaherty slide out from behind his bench and walk toward the door. Where was he going? “How do you know?” she asked her uncle.

  Garrett tugged gently on Nell’s thick golden braid. “Your father will want to see all of us if he’s called to London, and your mother has already gone to her chambers for the night. A banquet is hardly the place to discuss politics.”

  Nell sighed. More than likely, no one would tell her anything until it was over. An unmarried woman’s place was below that of her father’s gallowglass, mercenaries who sold their services to the highest bidder and made up the bulk of the Fitzgerald army. Margaret, her older sister, had entertained notions beyond those of most women, and her reward was banishment from her family and marriage to Ormond, a man twice her age.

  Thoughts of Margaret were rarely pleasant. Nell stifled a yawn. Perhaps it was time to seek her couch. The day had been long and the wine potent. Dipping her fingers into the trencher she shared with Garrett, she found the last piece of honeyed pear and slipped it into her mouth.

  Garrett grinned and stood to let her pass. Nell’s fondness for sweets had not lessened with maturity. Still standing, he watched as she crossed the room without incident and disappeared behind the enormous carved doors. Only then did he sit down to resume his meal. During the last year, Nell had developed the curves of a woman. She was safe enough at Maynooth while her father and uncles were present, but Garrett had seen the eyes of more than a few of the Irish lords linger on her graceful figure as she moved about the castle. He wanted there to be no doubt that Gerald Og’s youngest and loveliest daughter had the full protection of her family.