‘When I look back,’ his mother said, ‘I realise they did not hate me. We never really hate the people we love, even when they make us angry. I see now that my family was just disappointed in me. They thought I was turning my back on them.’
‘And were you?’
‘I was not! I was simply turning towards William. How strange,’ she mused, ‘that time has erased all that long-ago pain.’
‘Footprints,’ said Tom.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Did you ever leave footprints on the beach, Mother, and come back later to find the sea had washed them away? It leaves the sand clean.’
Catherine Flynn smiled.
Tom’s sisters were waiting eagerly to hear the details of the visit, but all Mrs Flynn said was, ‘They were kind to us.’ She went straight to her bed.
Tom answered their questions until he could not keep his eyes open any longer. Then he too retired. To the cave of the bed-closet.
On the following day Catherine Flynn had a talk with her children. ‘When your father comes home again you are not to mention my brother or his family,’ she said. ‘Not a word about them, do you understand?’
Caroline immediately said, ‘Why?’
‘When William and I married there were certain problems …’
‘What sort of problems?’ Virginia prompted.
‘My people had once been very wealthy,’ her mother explained, ‘so William boasted of being related to the O’Flynns of Ardagh Castle, between Skibbereen and Baltimore. Like ourselves, they were a branch of the Corca Laoidhe.
‘My father was still alive at the time. When he realised we were determined to marry, pride compelled him to give me a dowry appropriate to William’s station. Shortly after the wedding I learned that William was merely a poor relation who had inherited a piece of land no one else wanted. I also discovered that the last of my family’s fortune had gone into my dowry. A little honesty at the beginning would have prevented much resentment afterwards.’
‘You would have married Father anyway,’ guessed Elizabeth.
‘Probably,’ her mother admitted with a wry smile. ‘We were very young. Unfortunately, as a result of some of the wild tales Seán told at our marriage feast, William thought the Ó Driscolls had a great hoard of hidden gold. He became obsessed with the idea. He convinced himself that my family had defrauded him and could have paid a much larger dowry. He forbade me to have anything more to do with them. To keep peace in the marriage, I agreed. If William knew Muiris had come here …’
A look passed between Tom and his sisters. ‘Father will not hear about it from us,’ Elizabeth promised.
Elizabeth waited until she could catch Tom alone. ‘Did you know anything about that?’ she asked her brother.
‘About what?’
‘The tragic mistake both sides made, of course. Just imagine, Tom. Aside from Mother’s dowry our parents started out with next nothing. They were very brave.’
Virginia joined them. Her face was flushed with excitement. ‘You have seen how the Ó Driscolls live, Tom. Are they wealthy after all? Did they cheat Father?’
Tom gave his sister a withering look. ‘You must be joking.’
‘If they are wealthy,’ said Virginia, ‘I might be an heiress. Then I could go to Paris and study art.’
‘And I would not have to marry Herbert Fox!’ Elizabeth added.
* * *
Tom was now able to visit the narrow valley openly. As the days grew longer, he hurried with his lessons so there would be enough light left. His sisters pleaded to go with him but their mother continued to refuse. ‘If all four of you go wandering along the coast someone will notice, and your father is bound to hear of it.’
Now it was Tom who was receiving special treatment. At first it was wonderful. Then he remembered how it felt to stand off to one side watching. He felt sorry for his sisters.
Elizabeth was fascinated by her newly-discovered relatives. ‘We must begin calling on them soon,’ she urged her mother. ‘I am to be married this coming September. Ginny has made out all sorts of lists and we have to invite your family to the wedding. It would be a scandal to ignore them.’
It was the first time Elizabeth had demonstrated any interest in the upcoming wedding.
Herbert Fox, on the other hand, was showing no interest at all. He paid no more calls on Elizabeth. For New Year he sent her a box of linen handkerchiefs.
‘Cheap linen at that,’ Missus remarked to Eithne. Elizabeth’s marriage was a constant source of gossip below stairs. There was even a wager among the male servants. Only the head groom was betting that the wedding would take place.
The female servants were more hopeful. They would be disappointed if the excitement of another celebration was denied them.
Tom was disappointed when Muiris told him they were not doing any smuggling right now. ‘Everything has a season,’ he explained. ‘Merchants are reluctant to send valuable cargos in the winter when they expect gales and ice.’
‘But it’s spring now,’ Tom argued. ‘Will we go out again soon?’
Muiris said, ‘You are very keen, lad.’
‘I like the sea. And the boats.’
‘There are honest ways to enjoy both, Tomás. When you are a bit older–’
‘When I am older my father wants me to be a soldier.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘I just want to be a man, Muiris, and make my own decisions.’
‘Men do not always get to make their own decisions. Sometimes life chooses for us. Do you think I wanted to be a smuggler? I used to compose poems. In our family Seán was the seanachie but I was the bard.’ Muiris gave a careless shrug, dismissing all that could not be. ‘If it is the sea and the boats you want, Tomás, I shall take you out myself and teach you to navigate in the bay.’
‘Can I come too?’ Donal pleaded.
Maura pounded her little fists against her father’s hip. ‘And me. And me!’
Muiris scooped her up, laughing. ‘All of you, then. And if you turn us over and drown us, God ’a’ mercy on us.’
On the first bright day when Tom had no lessons, Muiris and Seán took the three children out in a currach. The boys were given oars. Maura was perched in the prow and told to watch for sea-monsters.
‘How will I know if I see one?’
Seán said seriously, ‘A giant snake will come leaping out of the water with its nostrils breathing fire.’
Maura shook her head until her curls bounced. ‘Will not. The water would put out the fire.’
‘The only way to stay ahead of this girl is to get up yesterday,’ said Muiris.
A dazzling spring day with a high wind blowing and feathery clouds streaming across the sky. Five people in a boat on the bay. Smiling and laughing. With not a care in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rescue!
Simon paused at the doorway of the great hall. Catherine Flynn was sitting on a bench with her back to him. She appeared to be holding the harp. He took half a step sideways to get a better look. In his memory no one had ever touched the harp except for Missus, who dusted the carved frame occasionally.
Catherine brushed the fingers of one hand across the harp strings as lightly as if stroking them with a feather. Then she dropped her hand back into her lap. ‘Come in, Simon,’ she said without looking around. ‘I shall not play, I’ve quite forgotten how.’
‘No one forgets how to make music,’ he said.
‘I have forgotten too many things. Was there any post for us in the village?’
He held out the letter. ‘This arrived this morning.’
‘Thank you, Simon.’ She carried the letter upstairs to her bed-chamber, broke the wax seal and opened the envelope.
My dearest Kate,
I am writing this letter on a rainy morning in late April. It is my last deed before leaving Ireland. The Earl of Strafford has raised a private army of 8000 foot soldiers and 1000 cavalry, including my own
company. The troops are massed on the Dublin docks, waiting to board ship. As soon as I post this letter I shall join them. We depart for Scotland today. You should see how splendid we look! The wild Scots cannot possibly stand against us.
I may not have the opportunity to write again until we have won a victory or two, but do not worry about me. Since meeting Robert Boyle things have turned around for me. That young man proved to be my good luck charm. Perhaps we underestimate our children.
Robert is estranged from his father, which is a loss to both of them. A man’s sons are his bridge to the future. I may have been too harsh with my own son. Just as Robert Boyle is not to blame for the deeds of his father, Tom is not to blame for what happened all these years ago. When I return I shall be in a position to make amends to him.
We have high hopes for this undertaking. Once the rebellion is put down, we expect the king to follow royal custom and reward his officers with grants of prime land. You will be able to leave that inadequate house, Kate. I shall give you a home more worthy of you, perhaps a castle in Scotland. …
Catherine Flynn put down the letter. ‘What does he mean by “inadequate”?’ she asked the walls of her chamber. The proportions of the room were pleasing to her eyes. In summer the great windows caught the morning light. In winter the fireplace filled the chamber with a golden glow. And the thick walls made sure it was always quiet. When she was a child she had grown so tired of the sound of the sea. William had carefully placed their house so she would not have to hear that endless, exhausting voice.
Her home was not a mansion, though her husband persisted in calling it one. It was just a draughty country house, better than some but plainer than most. Catherine Flynn did not want a mansion, and certainly not a castle. Her heart was cemented into the rubblestone walls of Roaringwater House.
Now William proposed to transplant her like the English rose bushes he insisted on buying every year. Uprooted from their native earth and sent across the sea to foreign soil, they always died.
She picked up the letter again.
I have always shielded you from financial concerns, but there is something I must tell you. As you know, for a number of years I have been doing business with Herbert Fox. That is over now. We quarrelled on the day I sailed from Cobh. Fox demanded I give Elizabeth’s dowry to him immediately. I succeeded in putting him off, but sooner rather than later he will repeat his demand. He may even ask for more.
The man is a total scoundrel, Kate, and greedy to a fault. I have decided that I do not want my daughter to marry him. In anticipation of our success in Scotland I have concluded new monetary arrangements. Therefore I no longer need Herbert Fox. I insist that Elizabeth break off the engagement.
I hope the girl will not be too upset. You must assure her that, as always, her father knows best.
* * *
Bright clear sunlight glittered on Roaringwater Bay. The waves appeared to be crested with diamonds. For a while Muiris talked about tides and currents and navigation, but it was too much information for Tom to take in at one time. He listened as hard as he could – until he began to yawn. The sun was very warm.
Muiris noticed the yawn. Turning towards Seán, he began a teasing banter. Soon they were exchanging the fond insults of brothers.
How lucky I am, Tom thought drowsily. I have two families, with an almost brother and an almost baby sister.
‘Have you seen any sea-monsters yet?’ he called to Maura.
‘Not yet, Tomflynn. Can we eat monsters?’
‘I don’t think so. Why, are you hungry?’
She patted her tummy. ‘Always hungry.’
Muiris said, ‘Bríd packed some food for us. We can go ashore on one of the islands and eat.’
‘Now?’
‘Not now, Maura,’ her father replied. ‘You have to find a monster first.’ He winked at Tom, who winked back.
Maura squinted at the water. After a few minutes she announced, ‘I see one! Can we eat now?’
‘Where is it?’
‘Over there.’ She pointed. ‘No, over there!’ She pointed in a different direction.
‘Keep looking,’ Seán said with a grin.
The sun was warm, the wind was gentle. The oars sang tloc swoosh, tloc swoosh, tloc swoosh. Tom felt himself growing sleepy. Seán and Muiris began arguing over which one of them was … was …
‘Monster!’ announced Maura. She leaned far out, pointing again. This time nobody looked.
So nobody saw the large black object just below the surface until the boat struck the rock.
The jolt threw Maura from the currach.
The little girl’s terrified scream woke Tom. By the time he realised what was happening Donal had leapt to his feet and lunged forward, vainly trying to catch his sister. In his anxiety Donal lost his balance. And followed her into the sea.
The water closed over them both.
Muiris cried in horror, ‘They can’t swim!’
None of their family could. As Séamus had once explained to Tom, ‘Men who make their living on the sea do not want to be able to swim. If a man loses his ship he could spend terrified hours struggling in the water, only to drown in the end. Better to drown straight away and be done.’
Tom had not admitted to Séamus that he could swim. He wanted to be like the rest of them. Without allowing himself time to think, he held his breath and jumped overboard.
He sank like a stone.
Down he plummeted, farther down than he had expected. This was not the shallow water beyond the beach. This was the deep bay. Down, down he went into the dark, until he heard a roaring in his ears. Trying not to panic, he began moving his arms and legs. He could not paddle the way he did on the surface. He was not even sure where the surface was. Which way was up?
His toes tried in vain to touch the bottom.
There was no bottom!
He was too frightened to think of a prayer. God, he said in his head. The one word. God. In the dark and the cold.
Then he realised he was rising. Up and up, until he popped onto the surface like a cork from a bottle.
One quick gasp of air and Tom started down again. This time he reached forward with his arms and kicked strongly with his legs, taking control.
A solid body bumped against his and glanced off. Maura’s sea monster! He had not realised his eyes were closed until he opened them. It was Maura herself, drifting away from him. He reached for the little girl but she was gone before he could catch her.
Tom propelled himself to the surface long enough to take another gulp of air, then went down after her.
Her skirt ballooned upwards as she sank. He caught hold of it and hung on with all his strength, dragging her towards him. When he could get an arm around the child’s waist he began to fight his way back to the surface. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His lungs were near to bursting. Maura was limp. He did not know if she was alive or dead.
They came up not far from the currach. Muiris was in the water by then, holding onto an oar which Seán was extending from the boat.
‘Tomás!’ Seán shouted. ‘This way!’
Tom tried to swim to Muiris. With only one arm free it was difficult. Maura was a dead weight, further slowing his progress. But he could never turn her loose. He held her tight against his body. Her head was tucked beneath his chin. He was Tomflynn and she was his little sister and he would not let her go. Not even to save himself.
Seán and Muiris were both shouting to him now. He dare not answer. If he swallowed water he might drown. Then Maura would surely drown – if she was not dead already. No! Tom refused to accept that possibility. Yet he could feel a cramp beginning in one of his legs. A cramp now could prove fatal.
Muiris stretched his arm as far as he could; stretched so desperately he thought his joints would pull apart. Stretched still farther. Saw Tom’s white face grimace with pain as the boy struggled to reach him. Glimpsed the top of Maura’s head, her dark curls plastered to her skull. Her dear, dark c
urls …
One more mighty effort beyond human strength … and Muiris closed his hand around Tom’s wrist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Into the Depths
Seán braced himself in the currach to hold the oar steady while Muiris drew Tom and Maura to the side of the boat. ‘All right, Tomás,’ Muiris said hoarsely. ‘I can take her now.’ He reached for his daughter but Tom could not release her. His arm was locked in place around the little girl.
The two men – one in the water and one in the boat – had to lift Tom and Maura over the side together.
Gasping for breath, Tom slumped in the bottom of the currach while Maura’s father and uncle bent over her. Muiris began talking in Irish to the little girl. Urging her to live. To Tom’s relief, he heard her cough and splutter. She called in a weak voice for Donal.
Muiris looked over his shoulder. His eyes met Tom’s.
This time Tom knew what to expect. Yet he went over the side anyway, back into the sea.
‘Why did you let him do that!’ Seán cried accusingly.
‘How could I stop him?’
‘How could you not, amadán? If Cait’s son dies trying to save yours she will never forgive any of us.’
The two men glared at each other across the body of the little girl who was just coming back to life. Then they turned to look at the sea. The water was dark and choppy, a constantly moving seascape. Somewhere down there Tom had disappeared as surely as if the bay had swallowed him.
Muiris gave a single moan of despair. His expression quickly changed to determination. ‘They are still here, Seán, they have to be, and we can find them. Take up your oars; hurry!’
Tom was unaware of what was happening on the surface. He had returned to a hostile world where he knew he could not survive for long. He must make every moment count. He peered into the watery gloom, looking for Donal.
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