Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy)

by William Patterson

  ‘And how is he supposed to have managed that?’

  ‘They say he sticks his finger into the muzzle of the muskets when someone fires at him, and the guns explode.’

  ‘That’s daft!’

  ‘It gets even better. Percival Grey is dead. They’re saying the priest entered a locked room and blew his brains out.’

  ‘Good riddance! Wait, how do you think Ned did that?’

  Robert chuckled. ‘I don’t know how he walked through the locked door but once he was in, knowing Ned, he probably talked the old bastard to death. A few times, when he wouldn’t shut up, I’ve thought about putting a pistol to my head … or his.’

  The old man’s mood was buoyed by the rumours from West Cork and he decided that another change of plans was in order. ‘C’mon, boyo. We’ll go to the stage depot in town,’ he said, ‘and we’ll get you and Morna on a coach to Limerick as soon as we can. I’ll get myself a ride down to Kenmare and start looking for my erstwhile partner. He has a lot of explaining to do.’

  There was a coach leaving for Limerick at nine o’clock the following morning, Robert counted out the money for the clerk. The tickets were expensive at three shillings apiece but the stage would arrive late afternoon the next day.

  ‘That’s fast!’ exclaimed Mikey.

  Robert shrugged. ‘They change horses a few times so they can gallop all the way,’ he replied. ‘You should be home in a couple of days.’ His mind was on getting to Kenmare as fast as he could, so he arranged a coach for himself.

  ‘Yu’ll hafta ride up front wit’ d’ driver,’ the clerk informed him officiously. ‘D’ coach is full o’ gentry goin’ t’ Moll’s Gap. After dat, ya c’n ride below.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ answered the old man. ‘I’ll be tying my horses to the back.’

  ‘Dat’ll be ‘n extra penny, so,’ said the man tartly.

  Robert didn’t feel like arguing, even though he wanted to slap the impertinent sod. He handed the extra penny to the man and cursed his arrogance under his breath. The clerk slipped the coin into his own pocket.

  They arrived back at the dress shop just as the middle-aged woman and her daughter were putting the final touches to the dress and they both stopped dead in their tracks. Morna was a grand sight to behold. The long green dress accented her eyes and the lace collar framed her delicate face. The women had talked her into wearing her red hair loose around her shoulders and now they were trying to talk her into wearing shoes.

  ‘Dey pinch me toes,’ she had said, ‘an’ dey make me feet sweat.’ The older woman tried to convince her, so she could make another sale, but Morna pinched her lips shut, wrinkled her nose and wouldn’t budge on the subject. The men were amused by the scene.

  ‘I’d like to be there the first time your mam and Morna butt heads,’ laughed Robert.

  Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, it’ll be a heavyweight contest alright,’ he replied.

  *

  CHAPTER 34

  Ned woke up with a terrible fierce hangover from drinking too much beer the night before on an empty stomach. His belly growled like a pack of hungry dogs and he had to use his thumb and forefinger to pry open his eyelids. Shite, he thought, Oy’m losin’ me touch. The muscles in his legs felt like knots. He tried to eat one of the boiled potatoes but even the smell of it made him feel sick. He forced himself to get up and his head spun. His lips felt like they were glued shut and, when he put his fingers against them, they felt like parchment. Jayzus Croist, he thought, Oy need t’ get s’me water inside me. He heard the sound of a stream gurgling at the side of the road and, opening his eyes just a crack, he walked towards the sound of the water and stared at his reflection. Jayzus, Oy look aulder den d’ sheriff, he thought and stepped into the icy cold brook. Agh! I have to piss now! He waded further out and settled slowly down into the water.

  ‘Got ten more miles t’ walk t’day’, he told himself out loud, ‘an’ den Oy c’n set me arse on a harse an’ let him do d’ wark.’ He closed his eyes now and thought about the girl who was waiting for him in Ballyshee, letting his mind drift away. He hadn’t heard a wagon pull up on the road behind him.

  ‘Is dis a proivit conversation?’ Ned almost jumped out of his skin and he whipped his head around to see a grizzled old man with brown teeth and a felt cap, sitting on the cart. ‘Or do y’ mind if Oy jine in?’ The old fellow cackled at his own joke.

  ‘Oy w’s just discoosin’ t’ings wit’meself,’ croaked Ned.

  ‘Den yer a madman, so?’

  ‘Oy mus’ be,’ replied Ned, gathering his senses. ‘Oy wannid t’ go on ‘n adventure an’ Oy got more den Oy bargained fer.’

  ‘Oy’m headin’ t’ Kenmare,’ replied the old codger. ‘Oy’ll trade ya a ride fer yer story.’

  Ned stood up, using his hands against his knees to take the strain from his aching muscles, and he waded back out of the water. He hobbled over to the wagon.

  ‘Oy t’ank ya, sar, an’ if ya gimme a hand t’ get up on dat wagon, me legs’ll t’ank ya too.’ The old fellow extended a calloused hand and hauled Ned up onto the seat beside him. Ned groaned as he sat.

  ‘Ya looks loike d’ cat ate cha an’ shat ya out on a dungpile, boyo,’ grumbled the old fellow. Ned regarded him with slight indignance and the driver clicked his tongue to gee up the horse. They started out to Kenmare.

  *

  Robert’s stage coach was due to leave earlier than the one Michael and Morna were taking and, before he boarded it, he handed his nephew the purse and a note.

  ‘This is for your mam.’ Michael looked at the note questioningly, then back at the old sheriff. ‘It’s an I.O.U. We’ve been spending Ned’s money and I want to make certain he gets it all back, and a bit more besides.’ Mikey nodded and the two men shook hands. When Robert extended his hand to Morna, she pushed it aside and embraced him in a hug, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘T’ankya, Ooncle Robbie. We’ll be seein’ ya in a coople o’ weeks.’ Robert blushed and, without looking back, he climbed up onto the seat next to the driver.

  The coach driver was a taciturn-looking, middle-aged man who had made the trip so many times that, whenever they rode past something of interest, he would spout a few facts about it in monotone, as if he’d spoken the lines a thousand times before. He stopped the coach for a few moments above Killarney’s lakes for his passengers to admire the view below. The old sheriff didn’t pay much attention to the scenery, taking the opportunity to check on the two Hobbies tied to the back of the stage. The durable little horses had handled the climb well and, as Robert checked their hooves, the driver came back to admire the beasts.

  ‘Dey ain’t many like dat left,’ he remarked, then went back to the gentry and helped a woman back into the coach. It wasn’t long before they arrived at Moll’s Gap, where the tourists reclaimed their luggage and headed for the inn. Robert watered his horses as the driver changed teams on the coach. They galloped swiftly towards Kenmare while Robert slept inside the empty compartment, which was still scented with the perfume worn by the gentlewoman.

  *

  Ned related his story in dribs and drabs to the driver, who’d offered him a ride in exchange for the tale. A couple of times, he fell asleep in the middle of a sentence and the old man elbowed him in the ribs to wake him up.

  ‘If ya stick me ‘n d’ ribs wit’ yer boney elbow ag’in, Oy swear Oy’ll get off an’ walk t’ Kenmare.’

  This story was too good to miss so the codger apologised and asked him to carry on. Most Irish stories needed embellishment to make them dramatic but the young deputy’s needed neither exaggeration nor decoration. He had just finished his tale when they rode into Kenmare.

  ‘Dat wuz d’ bes’ story Oy ever heared, boyo! Ya mus’ be d’ bes’ bullshitter ‘n all Oireland,’ said the old fellow. Ned shook his hand, thanked him for the ride, and made his way straight to the office of Sheriff Wentworth.

  *

  Robert was awakened by a sharp rap on the outside of the
coach and the driver’s voice, yelling in monotone.

  ‘Five minutes to Kenmare!’

  The old man opened his eyes and was disorientated at first, until he shook the cobwebs from his head. I’ll rest here for the night, he told himself, then I’ll head down to the Beara to find Ned. When the coach jerked to a halt, he opened the door and untied his horses. He would check in with Sheriff Wentworth as soon as he had seen to the animals.

  *

  Ned was ushered into Sheriff Wentworth’s office where the sheriff sat, stern-faced and not at all the cordial fellow he’d been on the previous visit.

  ‘Sit!’ he ordered, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. ‘What has been going on in Cork? I’ve got conflicting reports and none of them make any sense.’ Ned eyed up the bars on the office window. He hadn’t forgotten being a ‘guest’ in the gaol at Glengarriff and he was already making plans in his head. The young sheriff noticed and he smiled.

  ‘You’ll bend the bars on my window if you use that thick Cork skull of yours to escape,’ he said, his tone more benign now. ‘You’re not in trouble. I just want to know what mischief you and Sheriff D’Arcy have been up to.’

  ‘We got separated a week ago. Oy don’ know what d’ sheriff did, boot Oy jus’ wannid t’ get outta dere.’

  Nigel Wentworth narrowed his eyes. ‘What have you heard about this murderous Franciscan?’

  Ned looked a little sheepish and the sheriff knew that whatever he said next was going to be a lie. ‘Oy don’ know a t’ink about any priest.’ The young man tried to wet his lips with his tongue but he seemed to have run out of spit.

  The sheriff was amused by the deputy’s distress and he poured a tumbler of water from a glass pitcher on his desk. He extended it to Ned and, when the young man reached for it, he didn’t relinquish his grip.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said. ‘You give me something and I’ll return the favour. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Is your given name Ned Flood?’

  ‘No, sar, Oy w’s baptised, Edmund Flood.’

  ‘You see?’ said the sheriff, releasing his grip on the glass. ‘That wasn’t difficult, was it, Edmund?’ Ned took a sip of the water, hoping it would help to detach his tongue from the roof of his mouth. It didn’t.

  ‘I’m sure you must be hungry, Edmund.’ The sheriff rang a little bell on his desk and an orderly came in immediately. He snapped a salute and the sheriff returned it casually. ‘As you were,’ he said. ‘Bring this man some supper and make sure it’s from my own kitchen.’

  His subordinate looked pained. ‘But, sar,’ he objected, ‘den dere won’t be enough fer yerself.’ The sheriff waved him away.

  Ned was nobody’s fool and he was well aware that kindness could be just as effective in procuring the truth as a lash. He decided to devour everything he was given and then, at least, he’d have a full stomach to face whatever was to come. The young sheriff picked a book up from his desk and pretended to read it, allowing Ned to stew in his own juice while he waited.

  There was an impatient knock at the door of the office and, without looking up, Sheriff Wentworth bid the caller to enter. A police sergeant came in and shot a dirty look at Ned before whispering something in the sheriff’s ear.

  ‘Well, don’t keep the man waiting,’ said Wentworth cordially, as if he’d been expecting someone. ‘Bring him in.’ Robert D’Arcy strode into the office and he had the look of a wild boar gathering itself for a charge. Sheriff Wentworth took one look at the old man and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He was looking at death and death was staring right back at him. He glanced at the pistol on his desk.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ snarled Robert, through clenched teeth. The young officer turned his palms outwards in a sign of surrender.

  ‘That will be all, sergeant,’ he said to the trooper. ‘Tell the orderly to bring more food. This might take some time.’

  Robert turned his attention from Sheriff Wentworth and addressed Ned.

  ‘You alright, boyo?’

  Ned nodded. ‘Oy woulda been, sar,’ he said, ‘if you hadn’t barged in an’ scared d’ shit outta d’ sheriff. ‘E w’s just goin’ t’ feed me.’

  Robert turned back to the young man sitting behind the desk. Ned was clearly not in any danger and so his anger began to abate a little.

  ‘Interrogating another man’s deputy, before the man can give a report to his own superior, is, at best, bad manners.’

  Nigel gave it a moment’s thought before he spoke. He knew he was dealing with a hair trigger and a short fuse.

  ‘I apologise, sir. I had been getting contradictory and, frankly, nonsensical reports from Cork and I needed to know what I was dealing with.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ snarled Robert.

  Wentworth’s face flushed. ‘I’m afraid to say that it was to satisfy my own inherent curiosity, sir.’

  ‘No matter what you hear, it must be kept in confidence, do you understand?’

  ‘You have my word as an officer and a gentleman, sir.’

  Just then, plates of food were brought in and, when the orderly had left the room, the old man turned to his deputy.

  ‘Very well, Ned, proceed. Start from when we parted company on the ridge above Ballyshee. Don’t embellish anything and don’t leave anything out.’

  ‘Whut about d’ gaol-break, sar?’ enquired Ned, innocently.

  ‘Hold your whisht!’ snapped D’arcy.

  Wentworth squirmed in his seat like a boy waiting to hear a story about pirates or ghosts. ‘Oh please,’ he implored, ‘I want to hear it all.’

  Robert relented and he had begun to tell the part of the story where they’d got themselves locked up in Percy’s murder hole, when Wentworth stopped him.

  ‘Can I write this down?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Perhaps I’ll write a famous novel about it one day!’

  Robert scowled at the interruption. ‘The Irish can’t read, ya piss drip. You’d have to change the hero into an Englishman … and have him pursued by throngs of mad Irishmen.’

  ‘…or hoards of red Indian savages in the New World!’ cried Nigel.

  Ned spoke around a mouthful of food, ‘Dey got red Injun whores dere?’

  ‘You just shut up and eat your food,’ growled the old man. ‘You’ll get your turn.’

  Nigel scribbled notes as the two men took turns in telling their story. It went on well into the night and, by the end of the story, Wentworth was sure he had the makings of a best seller.

  ‘Are you men going back to Tipp now?’ he asked.

  ‘Oy’ve gotta make a trip back t’ Ballyshee, farst,’ said Ned.

  ‘There is no Ballyshee,’ responded Wentworth. ‘The annihilation of that village was Grey’s last atrocity.’

  ‘Oy saw ‘im burn d’ town from on d’ hill,’ said Ned plaintively. ‘What else happ’ned?’

  The young sheriff told them what he’d heard and Ned thought he was going to be sick. He turned to Robert who gave him a pitying look.

  ‘Oy gotta go, anyways,’ Ned told him.

  ‘From now on, we go as a team,’ said Robert. ‘Go and get yourself some sleep. The sheriff and I have business to discuss. We’ll leave tomorrow.’

  *

  CHAPTER 35

  Things were not going at all well in Tipperary. Acting Sheriff Higgins was experiencing serious discipline problems with his deputies. The men had taken to drinking whilst on duty and the respect which the old sheriff had worked hard to earn was quickly being squandered. The men had begun to extort money as bribes from shopkeepers and vendors, and Nenagh town was becoming a dangerous place to be. Higgins spent more time filling out paperwork to cover the actions of his own men than he did carrying out his own duties. It had started to unravel almost as soon as D’Arcy left and now, it was rapidly descending into anarchy.

  Higgins decided that his own failure to mete out discipline was to blame and he resolved to get things back under control. He called the sergeant, who was acting as his ad
jutant, into his office. The sergeant didn’t salute but Higgins ignored the insubordination and told him that he wanted punishment details assigned to the miscreants.

  The man drew in his breath. ‘The men aren’t going to like this,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘This isn’t a bloody democracy, sergeant,’ said Higgins. ‘I want patrols placed on the roads leading in and out of Nenagh, every night.’

  The man sneered at his superior. ‘Well at least the men will be able to drink in peace,’ he scoffed and, without being dismissed, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Higgins sighed and returned to his paperwork.

  *

  Things weren’t going too well up in Gortalocca either. At first there had been good news when Robbie announced that his wife, May, was with child. Then he had begun to put forward his case to his mother. Since she lived in a bigger cottage all by herself, he’d said, it would make sense for her to move over to Paddy’s old place and for he and May to move into the Flynn cottage. He had begun by tentatively making the suggestion then gradually, but inexorably, he arrived at the point where he asked Roisin outright when she was going to move. Robbie was very careful to avoid a full-on confrontation with his mother because that would result in her digging her heels in, and he would never get his way. He switched on his charm and utilised her coming grandchild as leverage. Finally, he convinced Roisin of the logic of his argument and they moved her possessions to the little cottage across the street. There was one altercation, however, and it concerned the big mirror over the fireplace. When Jamie Clancy had come to move it, at Roisin’s request, he and Robbie almost came to blows, with Robbie claiming it belonged to the house, not to his mother, and Jamie threatening to smash it over Robbie’s head. The mirror was moved to the smaller cottage but it was never hung, a hollow victory.