Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy)

by William Patterson

  After a couple of hours tossing and turning, Robert gave up on the idea of sleep and he went downstairs to the darkened bar. He wasn’t alone. Sleep had eluded Mary too and she sat at a table, her face in her hands, crying. Robert sat down facing her.

  ‘Can’t sleep either?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Oy don’ t’ink Oy’ll ever be able t’ sleep again,’ she sobbed.

  Robert put his hand gently on hers. ‘I’ve felt that way too, Mary, in the past.’

  ‘Will it ever go ‘way?’

  ‘It will o’course.’ the old man said, but he wasn’t convinced.

  ‘When?’ she implored.

  ‘When all the good things fill up your mind and push out the bad ones,’ he said softly.

  ‘What aboot what me coosin’s husband said? Dat a real woman woulda died farst.’

  ‘Agh, he’s just an eejit! He has no idea what terror is. Some things are worse than dying. You know that better than I do and I’m an old man.’

  ‘Oy wish Oy’d died, like me da did, when dey shot ‘im.’

  Robert squeezed her hand. ‘Woman, the reason you didn’t die is because you still have something important to do. That man upstairs, trying to sleep, loves you enough to go through his own hell to get back to you. You saved his life.’

  ‘Do ya really t’ink dat’s d’ reason?’

  ‘I really and truly do, Mary.’ The old man still wasn’t convinced.

  The golden-haired girl looked at him quizzically and her face was like a child’s. The old fellow felt as protective of her, as a father would his daughter.

  ‘Ya know,’ she said, ‘fer a hoywayman, ya know a lot o’ t’ings. Maybe ya shoulda bin a priest.’

  Robert laughed out loud. For your penance, he thought, hold out the hand that did it and I’ll cut it off.

  ‘I wouldn’t have made a very good priest,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s see what they have behind the bar. Maybe we can find a little something to help us sleep.’

  He rummaged around on the shelves and found a bottle of French brandy which Percival had overlooked. He poured them both a half cupful and they sipped it slowly. The girl yawned.

  ‘Give it another try,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’ll be able to drop off now.’ She began to pad away on bare feet, then stopped, turned back and gave the old man a hug.

  ‘T’anks, Ooncle Robbie.’

  Robert poured himself another cup of brandy and sat alone in the darkness.

  The sky had just begun to get that early morning glow in the east, about an hour before the sun makes its appearance, and the silhouette of the mountains was deep indigo against the deep blue of the sky. Robert picked himself up painfully from out of the chair. One of the gifts of age, he thought. At least you knew you’d lived to see another day when the aches and pains reminded you. He went outside into the cool morning air and breathed deeply … and coughed. It was time to check on the horses. The journey had been almost as hard on them as it had been on the old man. Both animals were about a hundred pounds lighter than they had been at the beginning of the adventure. Robert stroked the side of the animal nearest to him.

  ‘We’ve spent all this time together,’ he said, out loud, ‘and I’ve never even given you boys a name. Well, you’re brothers and you’re Irish, so how about Bran and Sceolan? They were two heroic Irish beasts too. They were the war hounds of Cu Chulain and…’

  Ned appeared from out of the darkness and startled the old man. ‘Oy been oop fer a coople o’ hours,’ he said. ‘You was sittin’ in in d’ bar sleepin’ so Oy let y’ be.’ Robert hadn’t even realised that he’d slept. ‘Oy had a converstion wit’ d’ harses meself a bit earlier,’ Ned continued. ‘Dose two are good listeners.’

  Robert inspected the animals. He said that when they got to Macroom, later that afternoon, it might be best to give the creatures a few days rest and let them put a bit of weight on before pushing them any further. Ned took a look at them and agreed that it was indeed a good idea to give them a chance to recover.

  ‘Maybe we all need a few days,’ he said.

  Robert thought for a moment before he spoke. ‘There’s no rest for the wicked, Ned. As soon as I can arrange passage, I shall go directly to Gortalocca and then I can take it easy. You and Mary can stay with the horses and, after a few days, you can come and join me.’

  ‘Ah now Oy don’ know about Gartalocca. Oy wanta see Mary Land.’

  ‘So you still have that notion in your head?’

  ‘Oy do, sar, but Oy may have to wark fer a few more years t’ save enough money.’

  Robert smiled. ‘Oh I don’t think you’ll have to wait that long, boyo. Do you remember I said I had business with Wentworth, back in Kenmare? Well I sold him the big horses. I thought I might get about ten or twelve pounds each for them but he was feeling generous with the town’s money and he was so excited at the prospect of writing that book of his that he gave me fifteen pounds each for the beasts. You have thirty pounds now, boyo, and, when you get to Gortalocca, you’ll get another five from me once you deliver the horses to Mick Sheridan. That’ll be enough to get you and Mary to Mary Land and enough to buy a real piece of land.’

  Ned was completely overwhelmed. He had thought himself a wealthy man when he’d had the five pounds which Fergus bequeathed him. Now he had thirty and, soon, he was to have thirty-five pounds.

  ‘Sar…Oy…’

  ‘Don’t say anything, boyo. I’ve accumulated money over my years as sheriff. The salary was generous and there were, let’s say gratuities, given to me. I lived a simple life in my quarters in the castle and it turns out that money never meant much to me. It was all I had and now it really doesn’t seem important at all.’

  ‘What ‘r ya gonna do when ya get back t’ Tipp?’

  ‘I’m going to be a horse trader, Ned. No more adventures for me. I shall leave that to you, but you can bet your arse that if I was twenty years younger, I would be going to Mary Land with you. Now let’s get the horses saddled. We might as well hit the road early.’

  Robert went back into the boarding house and left a few pennies on the bar for the brandy. He tapped on Mary’s door. It opened immediately and she stood, ready to leave.

  ‘Still no sleep?’ he asked. She shook her head and walked past him. It’ll be a long time before she rids herself of her demons, he thought.

  *

  In Gortalocca, Michael’s homecoming festivities were continuing well into the night. There were stories to tell and gossip to share. The young man had been proud to introduce his wife to the gathering and things were going swimmingly, then the cider ran out.

  ‘Michael,’ said Roisin, ‘go over to your brother’s house and get him to open up the bar so we can carry on our party there.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mam.’

  ‘Nonsense. Robbie’s your brother. He won’t mind and, besides, he should be hearing about life outside in the big wide world too.’

  Reluctantly, Mikey acceded to his mother’s wishes and he crossed the road to the Flynn cottage. A light came from the window. Michael had secretly hoped that the occupants would be asleep so he would have an excuse not to knock. He tapped tentatively on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ came a slurred reply from the interior.

  ‘It’s Mikey.’

  ‘What d’ feck do you want?’

  ‘Mam wants you to open the bar.’

  ‘Tell ‘er t’ go t’ sleep,’ came the reply.

  Michael waited for a moment before he decided what he should tell his mother. He came to a decision. I’m not covering for you anymore, Robbie, he thought. I’m going to go across the street and tell Mam that you said no, and that’s exactly what he did.

  ‘What did you say to him,’ she snapped, in a feeble attempt to mitigate the conduct of her eldest son.

  ‘I told him exactly what you told me to, Mam.’

  ‘Well how did you say it? Maybe he was upset at the tone of your voice.’

  Mikey tucked his
bottom lip behind his teeth and rolled his eyes. Although Roisin was overjoyed to have her youngest back in the fold, she bristled at his impertinent expression and she stood up, putting her hands on her hips. Jamie Clancy intervened.

  ‘I have a key,’ he said. All eyes turned on him and he smiled an enigmatic grin and raised his bushy eyebrows.

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ said Roisin, indignantly. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I gottit from Liam. Ye go over t’ d’ store an’ I’ll meet ye dere.’

  The group filed out of the cottage and Jamie went next door to his house. As they gathered around Hogan’s padlocked door, Jamie reappeared.

  ‘Gimme some room,’ he said. ‘I hafta use me key.’ The gathering separated and Jamie pulled out a short iron bar and broke the hasp off the door. He laughed at the shocked expression on Roisin’s face.

  ‘Da bar is op’n fer business, missus,’ he said, and bowed as he held the door for her.

  The contents of the beer kegs were already low and Jamie tipped one of them on its side as Mikey filled some flagons with the cloudy liquid.

  ‘They’re just dregs,’ he said, ‘but they’ll have to do us until there’s another delivery.’

  Roisin’s face flushed, she was mortified. There had been a delivery less than a week before. Robbie must have had a celebration or two with his mates. Michael picked up a clay jug which at one time had contained poteen and he shook it. It was empty.

  ‘Business must be good, Mam,’ he said. Roisin averted her eyes, which were threatening tears.

  The festivities had just begun to take off again when Robbie appeared at the door brandishing a hefty walking stick.

  ‘Get outta here, ya thieves! I’ll brain youse wit’ me stick.’

  Michael stepped forward, hoping to defuse the situation. ‘I’ll fix the lock and I’ll pay for the beer.’

  ‘Feckin’ right ya will!’ he screamed, ‘an’ dere ain’t none o’ yuz welcome in dis place ever again.’

  Jamie Clancy had heard enough and he pulled himself up to his full six feet and three inches. ‘If ya want ta start sumpthin’ here, ya’d better start wit’ me,’ he snarled. Jamie was a quiet, gentle man but his tall stature, muscular as it was from his years in the smithery, could be imposing, especially when he used this tone of voice. Robbie took a step backwards as if he was going to swing the stick, but Jamie stood his ground and the two men locked stares. The drunken man was the first to blink.

  ‘I’ll know how much beer ya drink, an’ I’ll be expectin’ ya t’ leave yer money on d’ bar.’ He turned and staggered back out into the night, leaving silence among those assembled.

  ‘Ah, he’ll be sorry for what he said tomorrow,’ blustered Roisin, trying to hide her humiliation at her son’s latest outburst. ‘He probably won’t even r’member, sure. C’mon, let’s have a drink.’

  *

  CHAPTER 39

  They set out for Macroom long before the sun rose over the mountains. A strong wind had whipped up from the southeast and grey clouds were threatening to obscure the last stars. Late summer had begun to surrender to autumn and the fair weather that had been their companion for most of the adventure was giving way to storms, which grew in intensity as the seasons changed. The bushes alongside the road rattled like old bones in the howling gale.

  ‘Looks loike d’ wedder is goin’ t’ close on us t’day, sar.’ Ned had to shout to be heard as the gusting wind tried to whip his words away. Soon the rain began to pelt down, not soft Irish rain but huge drops that had probably originated in some tropical sea to the south.

  ‘I was hoping we could make Macroom today, Ned,’ yelled Robert, ‘but if this gets any worse, we’ll have to find some shelter until it passes.’

  By the time they came to Inchigeelagh, both riders and horses were drenched through to the bone. The wind had all but abated, the squall had passed, and now the sun was playing tag behind the clouds. They passed through the village and had to move aside as several mounted redcoats rode by. Robert’s heart was in his mouth but the soldiers paid no heed to them and galloped past in the direction of Macroom.

  ‘Jayzus, sar,’ gasped the deputy, when they had gone by, ‘Oy w’s scared t’ death fer a second.’

  ‘You and me both, boyo,’ exclaimed the old man. He noticed that Mary had hidden her face and, when she looked up, he could see she was terrified.

  ‘We’ll rest the horses, Ned,’ he said abruptly. ‘You go and water them. I’m so sore I don’t think I can walk.’ Without a moment’s hesitation the young man followed his orders, leaving Mary and Robert alone together.

  ‘Did you recognise any of those men, girl?’

  ‘No, Ooncle Robbie. I couldn’t ev’n see deir faces. I only saw d’ red coats.’ Robert breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Yer no hoywaym’n, are ye. Oy mean yer not t’ieves.’

  ‘No, you’re right. The last time I stole something, it was a dead man’s uniform and his name. That was forty years ago and I haven’t taken the name or the uniform off ever since. I’ve hidden behind them.’ The girl’s eyebrows knitted with a question that she didn’t ask. ‘I became Robert D’Arcy, a captain in the Irish foot, and in the end, even I forgot who I really was. If I’d been brave, I would have gone back to the blacksmith shop my father owned and I would have swallowed my pride and admitted that I was wrong. My vanity and conceit led me down a different path.’

  ‘But yer a brave man…’

  ‘I’m a coward. My brother was a brave man and so is his son Michael, and so is Ned, but not me. I hid behind my duty and I gave up the things that are really important. I thought there would always be time, but here I am, already an old man, just fighting to stay alive. If I live long enough, perhaps I’ll find a way to repent for my sin of self-importance.’

  They reached Macroom early in the afternoon. The squalls had persisted and now the rain fell constantly in a downpour. They put the horses in a pasture on the outskirts of town and, after an initial burst of exuberance, the two animals settled down and began to graze. Robert gave the farmer a shilling and said there’d be another when Ned came to claim the beasts in a few days. They walked to the town centre in the bucketing rain and found an inn right in front of the old castle ruins. They sat down to a meal and some beer and Robert enquired of the proprietress, who informed him her name was Shelagh, if accommodations could be provided. Shelagh showed them a pair of rooms, side by side on the third floor, and Robert handed her a shilling for both. She gave him a penny in change.

  Mary turned in early and Ned went up not long after her. Robert stayed downstairs in the bar and listened to the local gossip. The two hot topics of conversation were the death of Percival Grey and the demon priest who haunted the mountains to the south. A few claimed to have seen the eight foot, sometimes twelve foot, apparition dressed in the grey garb of a Franciscan, with fierce red eyes that glowed like coals. They considered the latter to be a saviour or, at the very least, an ally against the English.

  ‘It might be a divil from hell,’ one man offered, ‘boot it’s our own divil.’

  Robert wondered what they would think if they knew that the ‘divil’ himself was sleeping right over their heads. He called it a night as the bar emptied out and he carried a cup of poteen up to his room with him. Guilt is the Achilles heel of the Irish and Robert still couldn’t help feeling that, if he’d done something different, then perhaps there would still be a village called Ballyshee. Ned wasn’t in the room when the old man arrived. Robert drank his whiskey and fell into a fitful slumber.

  *

  Michael and Morna slept late; the journey to Gortalocca had been taxing. Roisin began her household duties early. Now there were three people crammed into the tiny twelve by fifteen cottage but she didn’t mind because at least she had company. Jamie stopped by and he had his tools with him. He was on his way to repair the lock on Hogan’s door. He knew that, if it wasn’t done promptly, Robbie would nag and harp on about the damage like an old woman.
Half an hour later, Robbie appeared at the door. He looked at the young couple sleeping on the floor.

  ‘Is ‘e goin’ t’ sleep all day? He’s got Clancy doin’ all ‘is work.’

  ‘What do you want, Robbie?’ asked Roisin, ignoring the remark.

  ‘Him an’ Clancy drank all d’ beer las’ night. I need money t’ get anudder delivery.’

  ‘What about the empty shelves? You must have made a profit on the groceries.’

  He gave it some thought before he answered her. ‘Wit’ May havin’ yer grandchild, she’s eatin’ a fierce lot o’ grub.’

  Michael had been listening to the conversation and now he sat up.

  ‘Robbie, you are full of shite,’ he said, stretching.

  Roisin cast him a withering look. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your tongue in my house, boy. If he’s full of shite, I’ll be the one to say so.’ Robbie was delighted with his mother’s defense and he smiled smugly at his brother. Mikey was irked that his mother was defending Robbie, even though he’d lied to cover his own arse.

  ‘I’m going to go and help Jamie,’ he said.

  ‘He don’t need yer help!’ yelled Robbie

  ‘Ah he does sure,’ replied Michael, casually. ‘Who else is going to hold your head steady while he pounds a nail into it?’

  ‘See, Mam. He’s no sooner back an’ ‘e’s startin’ trouble. Tell ‘im!’

  ‘Jesus, Joseph and Holy Mary! You’re like a couple of spoilt kids. Michael, go way out of it. Take Morna with you and go and help Clancy.’ Roisin knew she would have to separate the two brothers before it came to blows. Without another word, Mikey took Morna by the hand and stalked off out the door, the girl stumbling behind him.

  They found Jamie working and fuming at the same time. It was clear that he had something to say and Michael doubted that it would be good news. Morna picked up a broom and began to sweep the floor of the bar; it was a pig sty.