by Tania Crosse
‘Ah.’ Vera’s voice was low and wise. There was silence for a few moments, during which Tresca prayed that her dear friend could help her untangle the twisted thread of her emotions. ‘And,’ she was relieved when Vera continued at last, ‘do you still blame Mr O’Mahoney?’
‘No. No I don’t.’ Her answer came swiftly and with conviction. ‘Not for dismissing my father. I understand now that he had no choice.’
‘But, out of loyalty to your father, you still feel you should dislike him?’
Tresca’s pretty mouth twisted. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she faltered.
‘Then don’t. Don’t live your life as others want you to. Do what you want to. Don’t be like me.’
‘Like you? B–but you always seem so strong and self-assured. If you don’t mind me saying so.’
Vera gave a wistful smile. ‘Perhaps I give that impression. And I do enjoy helping people less fortunate than myself. But whatever I do, I’m governed by my uncle. If I were to do anything he disapproved of, he’d withdraw my allowance. And since I have no money of my own, the idea of having no income at all frightens me. But you, Tresca, if you were in my position, I could just see you telling him to keep his money if there was something you really wanted to do. So you see,’ she said, staring intently into Tresca’s eyes, ‘you’re stronger than I am, despite what you might think. So, if you want to be friends with Mr O’Mahoney, Connor, go and make it up with him. He clearly didn’t want to upset you over the lamp. His intentions were just the opposite.’
Tresca blinked at her, considering her words. ‘But . . . what if he won’t listen? What if he’m so angry with me—?’
‘He won’t be. And I think you could eat humble pie most beautifully.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I do indeed. And I suggest you go straight round there now. Strike while the iron is hot.’
Tresca drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, I suppose I could. He should be home now.’
‘Go on, then. And good luck.’
‘Thank you,’ Tresca nodded as she made for the door. ‘I’m going to need it.’
As she made her way back through the town, she felt her insides screw into a tangled knot. Vera’s words had given her strength and there was a joy bubbling up within her at the idea that she could set things right again. But on the other hand, she was dreading Connor’s reaction. He would have every right to reject her apologies, and her heart was thumping as she knocked on the door.
Once again she was left to wait in the hallway while the elderly landlord made his way upstairs, but this time the house somehow seemed different. And then she realized what it was. Drifting from upstairs was the dulcet tone of some sort of flute playing a bright and lively rhythmical melody, and yet there was a bewitching quality to it. Tresca was intrigued, forgetting the daunting task ahead, and she was disappointed when the playing stopped abruptly mid-tune. She heard men’s voices then, one of which was unmistakably Connor’s, and she felt herself trembling.
She looked up. Connor was standing at the top of the stairs and she saw his face harden. He waited, not moving a muscle, while the old man slowly descended the steps and disappeared into one of the other rooms. Still Connor stood, and Tresca wanted to be swallowed up into a big black hole as, finally, he came down to her, his eyes harsh as they bore into hers.
‘Yes?’
Tresca nearly choked. ‘Connor, please,’ she managed to croak. ‘I’m sorry. It were really kind of you to give me the lamp. It just . . . reminded me of everything. And I do want to be friends. Will you forgive me? Please?’
The silence that followed seemed interminable, strangling. She hardly dared to meet Connor’s eyes, almost feeling faint. Say something. Please.
‘Forgive you?’ His voice, when he finally spoke, was almost inaudible. ‘No, me sweet little colleen. Isn’t it you who should be forgiving me? Wasn’t it the most abominable thing I did. You were right to be angry, whereas my only excuse is that you really have taken the heart from me.’
Tresca stared at him, feeling something she couldn’t quite identify settle in her breast. ‘Still friends, then?’ she whispered.
‘If . . . you really want to,’ he answered guardedly.
‘Yes, I do.’
She heard Connor let out a sharp sigh and she saw his eyes change from a muddied hue to their normal intense aquamarine. ‘Sure that’s a relief. I’ve been cursing meself ever since. Complete eejit it is I’ve been.’
‘Well, let’s say no more about it.’
‘Feignites, then?’
She gave a grunt of amusement. ‘Whatever that means, yes. And . . . was that you playing just now?’
‘What, me tin whistle? Not the greatest player in the world, me, but it reminds me of home.’
‘I thought it were lovely. Was it an Irish tune?’
‘It surely was. “The Black Velvet Band”. About a fellow who falls for a beautiful young lady who turns out to be a pickpocket and tricks him into taking the can for her. And doesn’t he get transported to Van Diemen’s Land for his troubles.’
‘Oh dear. It sounded too happy a tune for that!’ she laughed, and then a great flood of relief washed through her as Connor threw up his head with a roar of mirth.
‘We’ve a lot to learn about each other,’ he chuckled as his merry eyes came to rest on her face, and something inside her rejoiced.
Nineteen
‘Good mornin’, young maid,’ Elijah Edwards beamed at Tresca one Sunday in August. ‘Where you’m goin’ wi’ such a smile on your face? An’ mighty fetchin’ you looks in that there outfit, if I may say so.’
Tresca flushed with embarrassment. It was the first time she had worn the dress she had made herself, and she did indeed feel the cat’s whiskers. It was a pity she had to wear her old, oft-mended boots, but they didn’t really show beneath the full-length skirt. Besides, they were the only footwear she possessed.
‘I’m meeting a friend,’ she answered, trying to tamp down the excitement that threatened to burst out of her. ‘We’m going for a walk up on to the moor.’
‘Ha!’ Elijah winked knowingly. ‘An’ wud that ’appen fer be a male friend?’ he asked with a teasing light in his eyes.
Tresca felt the colour in her cheeks deepen. ‘Yes,’ she admitted in a tiny voice.
‘The big Irish chap I’ve seen you with afore, I’ll be bound. O’Mahoney, isn’t it? Pleasant fellow from what I’ve seen. You ’ave a good day, then, cheel. Lovely weather you’ve got fer it.’
‘Certainly have. Good day to you, then.’
Tresca smiled and watched Elijah stomp off up the hill on his crutches. Kind and cheerful he was, and so was his wife; Tresca had grown fond of them both. But not as fond as she had of Connor in the weeks since their argument. They had spent many hours together, and Tresca couldn’t wait for this, their first major outing. She had woken at dawn, too excited to go back to sleep. So, while the rest of Bannawell Street still slumbered, she had brought the cows down early from their field for milking. And now her heart was dancing a polka as she stepped into the street at the appointed hour.
Connor was emerging from his front door. His tall, broad yet trim figure paused as he looked approvingly at the clear blue sky. His head was lifted in that proud manner Tresca recognized so well, and she could scarcely contain her elation as she ran across to him.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her. ‘Morning to you, acushla,’ he grinned. ‘And my, don’t we look stunning today.’
‘Thank you,’ she blushed, a spark of pleasure sizzling down her spine. ‘And how are you today?’
‘Sure, I’m great altogether, and looking forward to our little expedition,’ he answered, swinging a full knapsack on to his back.
‘Goodness, it certainly looks like an expedition! What on earth have you got there?’
‘Didn’t I tell you I’d be bringing a picnic? And by the looks of things we’re going to have a grand day for it, so we’ll be needing ple
nty to drink. So, shall we?’
He offered her his arm with a jaunty tip of his head, and with a light giggle, Tresca laced her fingers in the crook of his elbow, feeling just like the princess Emmanuel always called her. For a fleeting moment, doubt clouded her happiness at the thought that her father didn’t know how close she was growing to Connor. But it was instantly gone as they made their way across the main town square.
‘Connor, your hair looks a little wet,’ Tresca observed as she frowned up at him.
‘Sure, I’ve been swimming at the pool this morning,’ he explained. ‘It’s open for an early men’s session on Sundays. It’s open three evenings, too, but it’s too late by the time I get home.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Tresca bobbed her head. Mention of the open-air swimming pool at the top of Bannawell Street reminded her too much of when she had been an inmate at the workhouse. The baths nestled virtually at the foot of the inhospitable building that had incarcerated her, and she had glimpsed the large, rectangular pool from one of the windows. It had been closed for the winter then, and looked cold and uninviting. How anyone could like swimming, and why it was considered so remarkable that the town was one of the first in the West Country to boast such a facility, she really couldn’t comprehend.
‘So, you like swimming, do you?’ she ventured as they walked briskly along Dolvin Road and then began the long, steady climb up Mount Tavy towards the moor.
‘I do so. Nothing more refreshing. Learnt to swim in the river back home as a boy, so I did. So I was delighted to find there’s a pool here. Have you never tried it?’
‘Can’t say as I fancy it myself,’ she answered, a touch reluctantly as she didn’t want to say anything that might make Connor think the less of her.
‘Is that so? I’d’ve seen you as a bit of a tomboy.’
‘I suppose I am in some ways. But the thought of all that cold water—’
‘Once you get in and start moving around, it warms you up.’ He glanced at her sideways and a hesitant smile spread over his face. ‘And can’t anyone learn to swim. I’d love to teach you meself, but sadly the men’s and women’s bathing is strictly separate. How ridiculous is that?’
‘I suppose it’s because those bathing suit things are too revealing,’ Tresca answered coyly, imagining nevertheless what Connor’s strong physique would look like in one of the said costumes. And perhaps, if he was there to support her, she might find the courage to try it out. In fact, it would be rather fun to be in the water, held safe in his arms . . .
‘Well, it’d be a poor man who couldn’t contain himself when he saw a lady in one of those suits. Cover every inch of the body, so they do. Pity. But perhaps you and Miss Miles should have a go together.’
‘Vera? Yes, I suppose she might. I’ll have to ask her.’
They fell into a comfortable silence, Tresca thinking that perhaps she would try and persuade Vera to sample the delights of the swimming pool with her – especially if it would please Connor. But for now she was happy to trot along beside him, hurrying as she tried to keep up with his long, vigorous stride.
‘Am I going too fast for you?’ he asked when they had been walking uphill for about a mile.
‘Ooph, well, just a little. My legs are shorter than yours.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, acushla. You should’ve said. Let’s rest for a while. I’ll take off me coat and you can sit on it—’
‘No, don’t worry. Just a few seconds standing still will do nicely. I think I must have become out of condition living in the town. I used to walk for miles without ever thinking about it.’
‘Used to walk from farm to farm looking for work, didn’t you say?’
‘Yes. If we couldn’t find jobs, we could walk for days. But then one of us would get taken on, and we mightn’t need to move on for weeks. Months sometimes. Like the last place we were. It were really good there, and we might’ve stayed on permanent, like. Only . . .’
They were moving on again, more slowly this time and talking as they went. Tresca hesitated. Should she tell Connor about the disastrous event – and her father’s part in it – that had led to their dismissal from Tremaine Farm? Given the present circumstances, what harm could it do? And as the coolness of the early morning was quickly being burnt away by the warmth of the sun as it rose ever higher in the sky, she felt at once relaxed and inspired, caught by an overwhelming desire to tell Connor everything about herself.
‘That’s a sorry story, so it is.’ He shook his head when she had finished. ‘No wonder you were so cross with me when I gave your father the push as well. But, you know I had to. You do understand, don’t you?’
He glanced down at her with such concern etched on his features that she suddenly wanted to melt against him.
‘Yes, of course I understand,’ she assured him. ‘And it wouldn’t have made much difference in the long run. If my father hadn’t gone into the workhouse, it wouldn’t have been discovered that he’m ill. He might have gone on working, pushing himself, and he might have got very sick very quickly. But as it is, he’s quite comfortable, doing his shoemaking and being looked after. The workhouse mightn’t be the most pleasant place to be, but until I can afford to support him, it’s the best place for him, really.’
‘So he’s not going on so bad, then?’
‘He seemed quite well last time I saw him. But I do wish I could look after him properly.’
‘Ah, they can be a responsibility, parents, so they can. Being the eldest, I didn’t like leaving me mammy all those years back, her being a widow and all. But it was the best thing to do, for couldn’t I earn far more than anyone else and send it home every month. I keep some of me wages for meself now. The next one down, me sister Siobhan, she married a fairly rich man. A hotelier. And me mammy lives with them now. And me next two sisters are married and all now, and the three younger laddies are all at work, so things are not so bad.’
‘So . . . you’m the eldest of seven, then?’
‘I surely am. There were two more as well that died as babbies.’
Tresca noticed Connor cross himself as they walked along. Yes, he was very Irish, she considered. But everything about him endeared him to her, and she could sense her feelings deepening with every step she took. They had been walking steeply uphill for about three miles, she reckoned, when they came to a natural halt, breathing heavily and drawing in the pure air of the moor. A small flock of Dartmoor sheep was cropping the grass not far away, calm and peaceful in the warm sunshine, and Tresca felt herself spill over with contentment.
‘Shall we be leaving the road now, d’you think?’ Connor asked, pointing up to the left. ‘That great outcrop of rock is where I usually take a break. Sure, there’s an amazing view from it.’
Tresca followed his pointing finger to where the ground rose up to the dramatic tor on the horizon, silhouetted clear and stark against the gentian sky. Not a cloud drifted overhead. It really was the most perfect day.
‘Yes, that’s Cox Tor. We worked at a farm over the other side once, Higher Godsworthy. Come on, I’ll race you!’ she cried over her shoulder, laughing with glee since she had already run away from him and he had the heavy haversack on his back. The tor was half a mile away, and the nearer they came, the steeper the uneven ground became. At last, the exertion and her teasing mirth as she glanced back at Connor robbed her of her breath and she came to a standstill. She turned, watching him catch her up, his stride nonetheless strong and sure.
‘Bold strap, so you are!’ he pronounced, his face split in a wide grin.
‘A what?’ she giggled breathlessly.
‘A little strumpet, if you like!’ he chuckled in return, and then the merriment slid from his face. ‘Not that I was insinuating—’
‘No, I know you weren’t,’ she told him, still laughing. She stood for a moment, her chest rising and falling in a deep sigh of contentment as she gazed all around. Connor, too, had taken the opportunity to catch his breath, drinking in the savage beauty of the moor.<
br />
‘Thaw shay guh hawling unsuh,’ he mumbled to himself, caught up, it would seem, in the intriguing mystery of the wild landscape.
‘Pardon?’
‘I’m sorry, acushla. Forgetting me manners. Doesn’t it mean it’s so beautiful here.’
‘Yes. It’s a feeling of, I don’t know, timelessness, isn’t it? Of eternity. We’ll come and go, and yet the moor will always be here.’
‘Sure, let’s not get too philosophical about it. And let’s get to the top and have a drink. Me mouth’s as dry as a bone.’
Tresca fell into step beside him. When they finally reached the tor and scrambled to the top, Connor helping her as her long skirt got in the way, they found a suitable rock to use as a seat. Connor opened the haversack and took out two bottles, one of ginger beer and the other of lemonade. Tresca chose the lemonade and they sat, admiring the view, for half an hour. Neither of them spoke, wrapped in the enchantment of nature’s spell. Not a sound intruded, just the sighing of the slightest breeze and the muted mewing of a pair of buzzards high overhead.
‘That’s the sea,’ Tresca whispered, not wanting to break the silence as she nodded down over the folds of hills to the flat, silvery line in the far distance. ‘And that’s the Tamar estuary. And then, look.’ She swivelled round so that she was facing in the opposite direction. ‘Over there, on that pinnacle in the distance, that’s St Michael’s, a tiny church set all alone. I’ve been there. It’s a real scramble. Like doing a penance afore you get there.’
‘I thought you Protestants didn’t do penances.’
‘Well, if we did.’
Connor gave the light chuckle she was growing to love. ‘Have you finished your drink? I usually walk down the dip and up the other side to the next tor.’
‘Great Staple Tor, you mean? Yes, good idea.’
‘And we can have our picnic there. Me stomach’s rumbling already.’
He packed the empty bottles away and then helped Tresca to her feet. Her fingers quivered in his warm, strong palm as they clambered down over the rocks and crossed the long sweep over to the next soaring heights. They didn’t walk a straight line but made a slight deviation down to a spring that fed a small natural pool. A group of wild Dartmoor ponies was grazing beside it, their teeth rasping as they munched the summer grass while others ambled to the water’s edge to drink, their long tails wafting in the balmy air. The young couple paused to observe them for a while, and Tresca felt her heart overflow with the new and blithe sensation of being in love. For she was sure of it now. She loved Connor O’Mahoney.