When Ellen and Ronan arrived at the Pot of Gold it was full of locals. The air was misty with body heat and smoke from the open fireplace, and it was very noisy. The clamour of voices hushed a little, however, when Ellen walked in, and she could see unfamiliar faces craning their necks to get a better look at her. She was relieved to see Johnny and Joe at a table against the wall and hurried over to join them.
‘You’re like a film star,’ Johnny commented when she reached him. ‘They’ll be asking for your autograph next.’
‘And I’ll be charging a pound a turn,’ Joe added, rubbing his hands together. Ellen recognized Desmond, who introduced her to his wife Alanna, a fair-skinned, fine-boned woman with strawberry-blonde hair falling in curls over her narrow shoulders. She smiled and patted the bench beside her.
‘Come and sit next to me, love. I’ve heard nothing all day except how beautiful you are. Joe, go and get her something to drink. What would you like? I’m having a vodka tonic.’
‘I know what she won’t be having, right, Ellen?’ He grinned playfully and winked at her.
She smiled back, his teasing giving her a pleasant sense of belonging. ‘I wanted to impress you,’ she retorted.
‘Well, you might have fooled Dad but you didn’t fool me.’ He threw his head back and laughed.
Alanna was confused. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘You should have seen the look on her face when she tried to drink a Guinness this afternoon. Priceless, it was!’
‘Oh, quit codding about, Joe!’ Alanna jumped to Ellen’s defence. ‘Don’t listen to him, he’s always acting the maggot and no one takes any notice!’
‘Don’t think I won’t get my own back, Joe Byrne!’ Ellen answered.
‘I wait with bated breath. So, what’ll it be, then?’
‘The same as Alanna, please.’
‘Good, I’d be ashamed to ask for water!’ Joe disappeared into the crowd.
‘Now who else don’t you know here?’ Alanna wondered, narrowing her eyes and looking about the room.
Ellen noticed Dylan’s dark presence at the bar. He was deep in conversation with Ronan, drinking a glass of Guinness. Occasionally, he looked up beneath his wild black fringe and his piercing black eyes watched her like a buzzard watching his prey. She tried to ignore him. After all, there was nothing she could do about his hopeless love for her mother. She wondered whether, if he met her now, he’d regret having wasted so many years in pining.
Ellen concentrated on meeting her uncles’ wives and grown-up children. She couldn’t imagine ever remembering all their names. She had more cousins than she could have dreamed of. Her family life in London seemed sterile and dull by comparison with this jolly clan of Byrnes. They certainly made a lot of noise. It wasn’t long before a sea-weathered fisherman called Eddie began to play the accordion and the pub burst into raucous singing.
Ellen thought of Caitlin Macausland, singing along with the best of them, as Joe had put it. She could imagine her in the midst of all these people, shining brighter and more beautiful than an angel, among them but tantalizingly out of reach. No wonder her death still shocked and saddened people. Ellen suspected she had grown more intriguing in death than she had been in life. That was always the way.
‘So, how are you enjoying staying with Peg?’ Alanna asked when the singing had died down and people started to leave.
‘I love Aunt Peg already,’ Ellen replied truthfully. ‘She’s such a sweet lady.’
‘She must love having you around the house.’
‘I hope I’m not going to be a burden.’
‘Not at all. I’m sure she’ll be very happy with the company.’
‘She has Ronan.’
‘Yes, he looks out for his mam. He’s a good boy, complicated though, I warn you.’
‘He’s serious, not like Joe.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, we have the craic all right with Joe!’
‘I really like Johnny and Joe. I don’t ever want to go back to London.’
‘Of course you don’t. You’ve only just arrived.’
‘I feel at home already.’
‘Connemara does that to people.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Look, I was born here, as were all the Byrnes, and we’re all still here. Is there any reason why you have to go back?’
Ellen sighed. She longed to be honest and tell her new family that she had left a fiancé in London but she cared too much about what they thought of her. ‘Well, I haven’t told my mother that I’m here,’ she said, which was true, at least.
‘Yes, Desmond told me.’
‘So, I’ll have to let her know at some stage, won’t I?’
‘Just let her know you’re safe. That’s all mothers worry about. Then she’ll leave you in peace.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think she’ll be furious with me for digging up her past.’
‘Do you have to tell her?’
‘Well, I’m not letting on at the moment. I’m going to stay with Aunt Peg for a while and write my novel . . . ’
‘What’s it about?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m hoping to be inspired here.’
‘Oh, you’ll definitely be inspired,’ she laughed.
‘I could write about Aunt Peg and all her animals. That alone would make an amusing read.’
‘I know, she fills the place with them, doesn’t she? And animals aren’t stupid; if there’s a wounded one, or perhaps one who just wants a warm night’s sleep, he’ll find his way to Peg’s.’
‘It’s a shame she doesn’t come to the pub.’
Alanna’s face grew serious. ‘She doesn’t feel comfortable with all the gossip.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘There’s always gossip in a small town like Ballymaldoon.’
‘Astonishing still to be gossiping about Caitlin and Conor Macausland after all these years.’
‘Oh, it’s not that kind of gossip that stops her coming to the pub. It’s gossip about her.’
‘But why would they gossip about Peg?’
Alanna put down her glass and lowered her voice. ‘You know that your aunt lost a little girl, don’t you?’
Ellen stared at her in horror. ‘No, I didn’t know. When?’
‘Many years ago now. She had her boys and then she had a little girl called Ciara.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘She died when she was seven, bless her. It was a terrible tragedy.’
‘How did she die?’
‘She drowned in the sea. It was an accident, of course. But Peg has never got over it. I don’t think a mother ever gets over losing a child, she just learns to live with it.’
‘God, that’s awful,’ Ellen gasped. She envisaged Peg’s lonely figure striding out across the field to see to her sheep and knew now why she had an air of sorrow about her. ‘Did they find her?’
‘Yes, they’d only taken their eyes off her for a moment and there she was face down in the water. They’d been arguing about something, so, naturally, they blamed themselves. The marriage was a difficult one before that, but afterwards it became intolerable.’
‘Oh, poor Peg. That’s terrible. What a burden to carry around.’
‘Her brothers look after her. They’re very protective. And she has Ronan just down the road. No one talks about it, but we’re all aware. It’s impossible to move beyond something like that.’
‘So, that’s why her husband went to live in America.’
‘A tragedy like that either binds you tighter together, or pulls you apart. In their case, it pulled them apart. It was no one’s fault, but they blamed each other and themselves and when Bill said he wanted to leave, Peg dug her heels in. She wanted to stay to be close to Ciara. She’s buried in the church here.’
Ellen’s heart went out to Peg. She realized now why she had looked so sad when she had spoken in the car about her ex-husband and his daughter.
‘Is that why she still calls herself Peg Byrne?’
‘She’s
always been Peg Byrne in spite of her married name. It never stuck.’ Alanna patted her arm and gave her a meaningful stare. ‘You won’t mention this, will you?’
‘No, of course I won’t.’
‘I probably shouldn’t have told you, but if you’re going to be living with her, it’s important that you understand why she is the way she is.’
‘I don’t imagine my mother knows.’
‘No, she wouldn’t do. When your mother left, I think Ronan hadn’t yet been born.’
‘I’m sure she’d be devastated that she wasn’t there to comfort her own sister when she lost a child.’
‘Don’t tell her. It’s for Peg to tell her, should she ever want to.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
Ellen left the pub feeling low. Johnny, his wife, Emer, and Joe dropped her back at Peg’s on their way home, too merry to notice the change in her mood. She remained a moment outside as their tail lights disappeared down the hill and into the lane. The lighthouse was silhouetted against the sky, which was now clear and starry. She thought of Ciara drowning in that sea and wondered how Peg could bear to look at it every morning when she opened her curtains. Perhaps it gave her comfort to think of her child’s spirit out there, not too far away. Maybe her proximity to the place where her daughter drowned made her feel close to her child.
She stood there in the damp, gazing out at the vast horizon and wide sea. A crescent moon shone brightly, like the wind-filled sail of a little boat, dribbling a pale ribbon of silver onto the water as it slowly climbed the sky. Ellen felt fonder of Peg now that she knew the sad undercurrent of her life. Oswald must know too, she thought, for he was her close companion and probably her confidant. She remembered the breakfast scene that morning and the cheerful banter between Peg and her brothers. There was consolation in a big family. She thought of hers back in London. There was little consolation in that.
Later, she lay in bed and listened to the roar of the sea and the moaning of the wind as it blew around the corners of the house. It was a soothing lullaby. There were no wailing sirens, buzzing motorbikes or cars. No voices of drunken revellers staggering up the street after a heavy night out and no noisy neighbours playing loud music. The sounds of the countryside were soft and mysterious, and the darkness deep and impenetrable. It wasn’t long before Ellen drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, she awoke to the cry of a lapwing and Mr Badger’s barking as he chased sheep around the field with Peg. She lay a moment, savouring the novelty of not having to get up to go to work. The day spread out before her like the blank pages of her novel. She could make it up as she went along.
‘So, how was the pub last night?’ Peg asked, as Ellen tucked into her bowl of porridge.
‘Very noisy,’ she replied. ‘I met so many relations. You seem to dominate this town.’
‘I think we do. Though there are a few other big families besides us.’ Peg hand-fed Jack a small lump of bread. He grabbed it greedily in his beak. ‘So, what are you going to do today? Are you going to start writing?’
‘I think I’ll go for a long walk and maybe try and work out a plot in the afternoon.’
‘That’s a good idea, pet. There are plenty of nice places to walk around here.’
Ellen took a sip of tea and wondered why it tasted better in Peg’s kitchen than her own. ‘Can I get you anything in town?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Food?’
‘Oh, that. No, I went out to get the messages yesterday.’
Ellen assumed messages meant groceries. She was beginning to get used to their Irish accents and slang. ‘I’d like to contribute, Aunt Peg.’
Peg’s face flowered into a smile. ‘So, you like it here, do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ Ellen looked baffled. ‘Well, if you want to contribute that means you’re intending to stay a while. No one offers to contribute if they’re only staying a few days.’
Ellen smiled back, a little embarrassed. ‘If that’s all right?’
‘Of course it’s all right, pet. You can stay as long as you want. There’s no one angling for your bedroom.’
‘Then I shall claim it for now.’
‘That’s grand. Now don’t be silly. If I need you to contribute, I’ll ask you. I call a spade a spade, so you’ll know.’
‘OK, deal.’
‘Now, it’s a beautiful day, so you’ll have a nice time exploring. You can take my car if you like. I’m not going anywhere today.’
‘Do you think Johnny and Joe will mind if I wander around up at the castle?’
‘I suspect they’ll be delighted. Any excuse to stop working.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I can’t imagine those two getting anything done up there. When Mrs Macausland was alive they were always planting and planning new things to do to the gardens. My Ronan built a bench around a tree so she could sit and enjoy the lake, and he built a tree house, too, for the children. She was full of ideas. I think she must have been bored.’
‘I got the impression that Ronan really liked her.’
‘That he did. He made a lot of money out of her commissions.’ She chuckled fondly at the mention of her son. ‘Ronan was a little star-struck, I think. He became very angry when she died. He ranted on about how Mr Macausland had killed her and really, we all got quite fed up with him. The police never arrested anyone and there was no proof whatsoever that there was any foul play, but Ronan was adamant. The truth is that no one knows what happened there that night, not Ronan, not anybody but Mr Macausland. Ronan can think what he likes. Now he doesn’t like to talk about her – or for anyone else to, for that matter.’
‘I can understand that. He was one of the only people here who really knew her.’
‘Well, she didn’t belong to him, but she had a talent for making everyone who met her feel special. Ronan thought he was special, but so did Johnny and Joe, too. She was as captivating as an enchantress and they all fell for her charms. So, it’s understandable that he was affected by her death. Death is so final. It’s hard to come to terms with it.’ Ellen looked away. Now that she knew about the tragedy of Peg’s little girl she felt uncomfortable looking at her when she talked about death, as if to watch her face would somehow be intrusive.
A while later, Ellen drove beneath the burr oaks to Ballymaldoon Castle. Having initially found the place frightening, she was now drawn by its beauty. The sun shone through the branches, projecting crisscross patterns that quivered on the drive as the wind gently blew them. In the dazzling light of day the castle itself looked benign, its towers and turrets the stuff of fairy tales. Johnny’s red truck was parked in front of the castle beside another little car that probably belonged to a cleaner or caretaker. As much as she wanted to look around the castle interior, she knew that might be considered prying were she to be caught. So she contented herself with the grounds instead.
She wandered about looking for Johnny and Joe, but the estate was so big and full of walled gardens, arboretums and orchards that she gave up after a while and set off she knew not where. Every now and then the sun disappeared behind a cloud, plunging her into shade, only to re-emerge a minute later, chasing the shadows down the hills and across the valley. It was a dramatic sight. She felt her spirits lift and her chest expand with happiness as she marched alone over the wild terrain. She climbed steep slopes and jumped over little streams, clambered up rocky crags and scaled meandering stone walls. The sound of birdsong filled the air and the breeze was rich with the smell of fertile soil and pink Irish heather that grew up from the rocks, giving the stark landscape a surprising flourish of colour. She lost herself in nature, letting her curiosity take her further into the wilderness.
She walked for a long time. She didn’t know how long because she hadn’t remembered to put on her watch that morning. Her stomach told her that it must be near lunchtime and she cursed herself for not having brought a biscuit at the very least. Trying to remember which way she’d come, she began to retrace her
steps. The trouble was, every hill and vale looked the same to her inexperienced eye. Just when she thought she was on the right track, another horizon rose up to contradict her.
At first, she didn’t panic. She was sure she’d hit a path eventually, or spot the castle towers or even the sea. She grew thirsty and her legs got heavier with each step but the splendour of the landscape distracted her from discomfort and her spirits remained optimistic. She walked for about half an hour before deciding to climb the hill to the top. Surely from up there she would see the castle and be able to navigate her way back. Hastily she set off, her throat tightening with anxiety. But as she neared the crest she became aware that behind it was simply another peak to climb. She was nowhere near the top; she was well and truly lost. At that point she panicked. What if she never found her way home? Would she die out there from exposure? It was mid February, after all. Would anybody know where to look for her? If she screamed would anyone but the birds hear her?
Just when her courage was about to slump, she heard the sound of whistling followed by a man’s voice shouting for his dog. Her heart leapt at the prospect of being rescued and she ran as fast as her tired legs could carry her in the direction of the voice. She scrambled over rocks and stumbled down the slope until she almost skidded straight into a big chestnut horse and his rider, walking over the brow of the mountain towards her.
The horse tossed back his head in surprise and lifted his front legs off the ground. The man steadied his steed with an experienced hand and glared down at Ellen in fury. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’
But Ellen didn’t hear him, so great was her relief. ‘Thank God!’ she panted, staggering out of the way. She was gasping for breath and flushed from running, and the desire to cry was almost overwhelming. She didn’t notice the man’s irritation, which quickly gave way to a grudging concern when he saw how frightened she was.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked brusquely. His Irish accent was mild compared with the Byrnes’. She nodded vigorously, catching her breath. ‘Magnum!’ he bellowed. A moment later an enormous pale-brown mastiff appeared over the lip of a knoll and came trotting towards them.
Secrets of the Lighthouse Page 10