Cave of Secrets

by Morgan Llywelyn

  Foregoing his own meal, Tom headed for the narrow valley.

  Muiris and his brothers had gone hunting. Donal was there, however. He was stretching a wet cowhide between pegs driven into the earth. ‘I’m going to make a coracle,’ he told Tom. ‘It’s time I had my own boat.’

  Tom tried to raise one eyebrow the way Muiris did. It was not a success. He merely twitched his forehead. ‘Don’t you think you should learn to swim first, Donal?’

  Donal gave a careless shrug. ‘There’s plenty of time for that. Let’s go cut willow branches for the framework of the boat.’

  Tom joined his friend, though he could not concentrate on the task. His thoughts kept returning to Roaringwater House. Maura soon appeared to make suggestions of her own for the project. Donal was amused and exasperated by turns, but even the little girl’s antics could not lift Tom’s spirits.

  At midday Bríd prepared a meal of hot bread and hotter soup. When Tom tried to eat, the shadow of Herbert Fox looked over his shoulder. He pushed the bowl away with an apology. ‘I think I had too much breakfast.’

  Without waiting for Muiris to return, Tom set off for home. He was trying to convince himself that Herbert Fox had gone. Surely the man knew he was not wanted. As Tom passed the stables he paused to look in the boxes. Fox’s horse was still there, munching corn. His saddle and bridle had been cleaned and hung up for another day.

  Tom entered the house with dragging feet. Smoking a foul-smelling pipe, the uninvited guest was occupying Mr Flynn’s favourite chair in the great hall. Mrs Flynn and her daughters were at the other end of the room. Tom thought they looked like sheep waiting to be shorn.

  Fox greeted the boy with another of his yellow smiles. ‘Ah, Tom! Do join us. I was just telling these dear ladies how much I appreciate their hospitality. I have decided to stay on for a while, so I can be on hand to welcome your dear father when he returns home. We have a little business to discuss. It will be the perfect opportunity.’

  Tom shot a glance at his mother. She would not meet his eyes.

  Elizabeth looked furious.

  Tom went to his room and slammed the door.

  In the morning Herbert Fox was again the first person at the breakfast table. He tried to get Mrs Flynn to call him ‘Bertie’ and insisted on calling her Catherine.

  None of the servants liked the man. ‘He is far too full of himself,’ was Eithne’s verdict. ‘He’s the wind in his own sails,’ declared Simon, who neglected to polish his boots. Missus did not shake out his featherbed. Cook put too much salt in his food. Stable boy and scullery maid alike insulted him behind his back.

  Tom’s mother continued to address him as Mr Fox.

  After his visit to the valley Tom stayed close to home. A storm was gathering over Roaringwater House. Light fading, pressure building. Not the kind of storm that could be cleared away by a clap of thunder. This storm was like a crouching animal. Tom could sense it in the hall and on the stairs, at the dining table and even in his bed-chamber. When he closed the panel of his bed-closet he imagined he could hear it breathing outside.

  Whatever it was had come with Herbert Fox.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tom Gets Some Answers

  Roaringwater House became an armed camp. Tom and his sisters were on one side, Herbert Fox on the other. When Fox occupied the great hall as if it were his own, the younger Flynns were careful to be elsewhere. They insisted on taking their meals after Fox had eaten. This made extra work for Cook, who grumbled to her mistress. All Mrs Flynn said was, ‘Leave them be, Cook.’

  Catherine Flynn was caught in the middle of the silent war. The drawn look returned to her face and her appetite failed – in spite of Cook’s best efforts with the spices.

  Mr Fox had a comment, however. Although his own food was over-salted, he claimed, ‘I have never tasted better food. I could eat like this for the rest of my life.’

  ‘When Father comes home he’ll sort that man out,’ Virginia predicted.

  Elizabeth was not so sure. ‘Herbert Fox would not be waiting for Father if he were afraid of him.’

  * * *

  The William Flynn who returned to Roaringwater House in the autumn was very different from the William Flynn who had left in the spring. Gone was the jaunty confidence. Gone too were the men who had followed him. He was alone.

  He drew rein on the hired horse he was riding, and sat staring at the house. It looked just as he remembered. Yet what had been beautiful to him once was ugly now. A dream gone sour.

  Catherine. Oh, my Kate.

  He heaved a sigh and kicked the weary horse. ‘Walk on, you poor brute,’ he said. ‘We may end up in the knacker’s yard together.’

  William Flynn did not enter his front door, but rode around to the stable yard. ‘Give this beast a good meal,’ he told the groom. ‘I don’t want to have to pay for him if he dies. What’s that bay horse doing in the best loose box?’

  ‘He belongs to your guest,’ the groom said.

  ‘What guest?’

  ‘Miss Elizabeth’s fiancé.’

  ‘Her what? Are you certain?’

  ‘I am of course. He’s been here for weeks.’

  William Flynn ran into the house. A score of possibilities, all of them bad, were racing through his mind.

  When he opened the door of the great hall he saw his wife and Herbert Fox on opposite sides of the fireplace. Mrs Flynn sat stiffly erect on a padded stool, trying to hide behind her wooden embroidery frame. Mr Fox slouched in William Flynn’s favourite chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. ‘Ah, William!’ he said without bothering to get to his feet. He might have been addressing a servant. ‘You’ve returned at last, I see. Did you have a pleasant time in England?’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend who is paying a social call on your family? I fear I have been neglecting them – like you have been neglecting your property. Take that Persian rug for example.’ Fox nodded towards the item in question. ‘A work of art, really. Yet it is damaged.’

  Flynn tried to hold his temper. ‘I did not cause the damage. You did it yourself on the night of the betrothal party.’

  Fox smiled his ugly smile. ‘So I did. When I saw the rug that evening I realised you had been holding out on me, and I was angry. I am over it now. I am not one to carry a grudge – not if I can find a way to even the score.’ The smile grew wider. ‘You should congratulate me on my good fortune, William. Or should I say on my excellent business sense? While you were away I made a clever investment. I bought up a mortgage from one of Richard Boyle’s moneylenders.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You heard me. I bought a mortgage on a piece of property which I have had my eye on for some time. Several years, in fact. The house is undistinguished in my opinion, and the land is far removed from any real civilisation. But since the place overlooks Roaringwater Bay it is perfectly suited to my purpose. You understand why, William,’ he said meaningfully.

  The colour drained from Flynn’s face. He cast a despairing glance at his wife, who had risen to her feet. ‘What have you told my family, Herbert?’

  ‘Nothing, yet. Why don’t we call the children in here and get this over with? Or perhaps you would prefer to explain to them and your wife by yourself? I can be generous, you see, when I hold a winning hand. I shall leave you alone for a while.’ Fox stood up and sauntered from the hall. Just outside the door he paused and shouted, ‘Come down, children! Your dear father is home and has news for you.’

  Tom was the first into the hall. His sisters pushed past him and ran to their father. He hugged each of the girls in turn, without really looking at them, then held out his hand to his wife. ‘You had best sit down again, Kate. There is something I must tell you.’

  Flynn had the haunted expression of a man on his way to the gallows.

  ‘When I left here last spring I fully expected to be part of a victorious army,’ he said. ‘Because I thought I could pay it ba
ck, I borrowed money in Dublin. Some of it went to equip myself and my company. I was sure the Lord Lieutenant would reimburse me.’ Flynn tried to sound reassuring. ‘Everyone was so certain …’ His courage failed him. ‘I signed a promissory note, Kate,’ he admitted in an embarrassed voice. ‘A mortgage on Roaringwater House. The man who loaned me the money was one of Boyle’s moneylenders.’

  Suddenly his wife understood. ‘Oh, William!’ She swayed on her chair. ‘You signed our home away?’

  In one long stride Flynn had his arms around her. Tom ran toward them but his father put out a hand to stop him. ‘Stand back, boy.’

  ‘I won’t! She’s my mother.’

  ‘And my wife. I want to protect her as much as you do.’

  ‘Liar!’ Tom exploded. ‘I know what a mortgage is. It means Herbert Fox owns this house now. How could you risk Mother’s home just so you could ride around on a new horse and wear plumes in your hat?’ Tom was afraid if he said anything more he would either cry or hit his father. He broke off speaking and ran from the room.

  ‘Go after him, William,’ his mother urged.

  ‘Why should I? Did you hear what he called me? I don’t have to take that from–’

  ‘Go after him,’ said Catherine. Her voice was no longer soft.

  Flynn caught up with Tom in the stable yard. When he shouted ‘Boy!’, Tom stopped. Turned. Faced his father.

  I will not run any more. I will not be afraid any longer.

  Carrying a pitchfork, the groom emerged from one of the loose boxes. ‘Is there trouble?’ he asked anxiously.

  Flynn waved him away. ‘Leave us,’ he ordered.

  ‘Now listen to me, boy,’ he said to Tom. ‘You have this all wrong, you do not understand the situation.’

  Colour rose in Tom’s cheeks. ‘Why should I believe anything you say? You hate me,’ he accused. ‘You’ve always hated me.’

  His father looked surprised. ‘I never hated you. I may not have expressed affection for you, but that is not my way.’

  ‘You are affectionate enough to my sisters,’ Tom said.

  ‘It is different with them.’

  ‘How? How is it different, Father?’

  The man balled his fists. ‘You have no right to question me, boy.’

  Tom stood his ground. ‘I believe I do. I’ve been the man of the family while you were away, and I’ve been learning things I never knew before. Now I want to hear the truth from you.’

  ‘I have always been honest with you,’ said his father.

  ‘If that’s true, answer this: why do you hate me?’

  William Flynn relaxed his fists. ‘I doubt if you could understand.’

  ‘Try me,’ Tom urged.

  The man gathered his thoughts. Things were happening too fast. He had lost the ability to resist. He said tentatively, ‘We must go back a few years …’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Your mother was lovely in her youth,’ Flynn recalled. ‘The loveliest creature I ever saw.’ A light came into his eyes. ‘Although her family was notorious throughout the region, she had many suitors. I was a youngest son and could not expect much of an inheritance – aside from a useless bit of land on Roaringwater Bay. But I had enough brains to court and win the woman I wanted.

  ‘I persuaded Catherine’s father to settle a substantial dowry on her. After we married she gave me three daughters in succession. With each one my wife grew more beautiful. By the time you were on the way she was breathtaking.’ Flynn swallowed hard.

  ‘Using her dowry,’ he went on, ‘I hired the architect who had built Palace Anne at Ballineen. I instructed him to create a suitable setting for my wife. Once we had a big house, I set out to make important friends. My ultimate plan was to gain a seat in the Irish Parliament. It was to be my tribute to Catherine and erase the taint of her heritage. Instead of shame, she would feel only pride.

  ‘You came along when I had almost given up hope of having a son. You were to be the crown on my happiness. Alas, things did not go well. You were a large baby, and your mother was damaged giving birth to you. She became the frail, faded woman she is today.’ Flynn’s voice sank. ‘I blamed you for costing me the wife I loved. I have never known how to treat you, boy.’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘My name is Tom.’

  William Flynn gave his son a long look. He remembered Robert Boyle’s words: I envy him, having the love of a father. ‘Tom,’ he said at last.

  The person standing in front of the boy was not the William Flynn he had known all his life. Tom realised that his father was a broken man.

  ‘Are we really going to lose the house?’ Tom asked.

  His father seemed to shrink inside his clothes. ‘And the land,’ he admitted. ‘Yes, I am afraid we are. We cannot expect pity from Herbert Fox. He has always been merciless to those in his power.’

  Random threads were coming together in Tom’s mind, forming a pattern, like that in the Persian rug. ‘Did Mr Fox force you to give him Elizabeth?’

  ‘He … persuaded me,’ said Flynn. ‘Herbert can be very persuasive. You see, he knows certain damaging things about me. He hinted that he would tell my wife unless I agreed to the match. So I did. You must understand, I was not being totally selfish. I truly believed he would take care of Elizabeth. In the beginning he gave a good imitation of being fond of her. Now I see why he really wanted her.

  ‘You are still very young, Tom. If anything happened to me, no one would be surprised if my son-in-law took over the management of my property for the sake of my family. It is not uncommon.’ Flynn paused. Shook himself, like someone trying to throw off a nightmare. ‘But I made it even easier for him. Through my own foolishness, I handed him everything on a plate.’

  Tom said, ‘What damaging things does he know about you?’

  His father shifted his feet. Would not meet his son’s eyes. ‘The details of my business.’

  When Tom spoke again it was with calm authority, the voice of command. ‘And just what business is that, Father? You had best tell me.’

  The answer came out of the man’s mouth like teeth being pulled. ‘Herbert … acquires … various expensive items from abroad. Items that are in much demand here among the propertied classes. He does this in a way which means he pays no taxes on them. He’s very clever, you see. I mean … I used to think he was very clever. For years I have been selling the merchandise for him in Dublin.’

  The pattern was clear now. Tom said, ‘But you secretly kept some of the things for yourself. Like the Persian rug.’

  ‘Shrewd guess,’ said his father.

  ‘I’m not guessing.’

  ‘All right, so I kept some choice items. I was entitled to take them. Herbert never did give me my fair share of the profits, and I wanted fine things for your mother.’

  ‘What would happen if the king’s agents found out about this business of yours?’

  ‘I would be thrown into prison,’ Flynn said bleakly.

  ‘And Mr Fox with you?’

  ‘Herbert knows many men in government. Greedy men like himself. He has built up a sizeable fortune over the years, and would be able to buy his way out of trouble. I am not in the same privileged position.’ Flynn slumped onto the mounting block and buried his face in his hands. ‘I am defeated, Tom,’ he moaned. ‘Step by step, I have brought disaster on us all. How can you ever forgive me?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Children Take Action

  William Flynn went to bed drunk. And woke up the following morning wishing he were still drunk. Knowing Herbert Fox remained in his house. Gloating. Tormenting the women with his presence.

  ‘You might as well pack your personal things when I go to Cork to have the new title drawn up,’ Fox had told them last night. ‘I shall not leave until the weekend, to give me adequate time to survey my new property with William as my guide. You can go to Cork with me if you like, Elizabeth. We can be married there.’

  In flo
ods of tears, Elizabeth had fled to her room.

  Fox laughed.

  * * *

  Donal was fishing from his little coracle when he heard a shout from the cliffs. Looking up, he saw Tom waving to him. He rowed toward the shingle beach.

  Tom hurried down the hidden path to join him. ‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ he told his friend. ‘I took a chance you might be.’

  Donal noticed his flushed face. ‘What’s wrong, Tomás?’

  The words burst out of him. ‘A man is taking our house and land.’

  Donal thought it was a joke. He laughed. ‘Taking it where?’

  ‘He’s trying to claim ownership of it,’ Tom amended. ‘But I’m not going to let him. Let’s go find Muiris. I’ll explain to you on the way.’

  As they were rowing into the marshy river mouth Donal said, ‘I never heard of a mortgage before. Are you sure you have it right? Someone else can actually own what is yours?’

  ‘I don’t understand it completely myself,’ Tom replied. With his oar he pushed the coracle away from a clump of willows. ‘I wish I had paid more attention when Mr Beasley was talking about business and keeping accounts. I suspect Muiris will know what a mortgage is, though. He knows about a lot of things. The first time I met him I never would have guessed …’

  Tom did not finish the sentence. He was thinking of his father, and how little one knows what lies behind a face.

  When the two boys reached the cabin, Muiris met them at the door. ‘Fáilte isteach, Tomás. The children were afraid you had abandoned us.’

  ‘I would never do that.’

  Muiris put one hand on his shoulder. ‘I know, lad. Bríd, see who has returned!’

  In the blink of an eye Tom was surrounded by family. Bríd was offering food to him, Maura was tugging at his hand to get him to listen to her. Muiris was smiling at him.

  For the first time since they met, Tom felt shy in his uncle’s presence. While walking to the cliffs he had rehearsed what he would say. Memorised every word. Been confident of his reception because he knew Muiris.