‘Mr Ellingham,’ she called, and the little man’s head popped up immediately from the group of men hefting a shiny box the shape of a coffin but twice as wide onto a covered cart.
‘Miss Fitzpatrick!’ His face lit up with genuine pleasure as he approached her and I noticed Brigid’s mien took on a similar glow. ‘I did not expect to see you here again, not so late. Have you changed your mind?’
His tone was so limned with hope that my heart hurt a little. Why, cousin, how sly! Aidan clearly did not know. Were all the women in Aidan Fitzpatrick’s life destined to defy him in one way or another? Then she shook her head regretfully and his joy disappeared.
She drew him away from the light, from his fellows, to where I waited in the shadows. Her hand on his arm, the movement of her lips and the way his eyes followed her very breath were all so clear to me – how could Aidan not know? Because he does not look, does not care to, has no concern for what anyone else wants or needs. Ellingham’s expression as Brigid speaks gradually changes and he searches for me. I step forward into a patch of lesser darkness.
‘Miss O’Malley,’ he says haltingly. ‘Brigid tells me you are in need of aid.’
‘In need of a swift and clandestine way out of Breakwater, Mr Ellingham. Can you assist?’
He pauses as if considering, then nods. ‘We make for Lodellan, but you may leave us anywhere along the way, as you choose.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ellingham.’
‘It will not be comfortable, at least not for a while, if you wish to depart covertly.’
‘I’ll make no complaint.’
‘Then come with me, we’ll not let my people know for the moment. A secret seldom survives being shared.’ The troupe had dispersed, back inside the theatre to gather final possessions, and he escorted me smartly across the courtyard to one of the covered carts.
And that is how I came to be lying in the dark beside the automaton, Delphine.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here; I napped, I think, soon after Mr Ellingham closed the lid on me. So tired, I barely had time to feel afraid of the inert thing beside me, of the blackness that closed in with the falling lid, and the snick of the latch. I remember hearing the city guards call as we rolled out beneath the gates and Ellingham answered cheerily that they would return next year in the same season with a new show, new performers, but always his beautiful Delphine. The soldiers cheered; apparently anyone could be thus affected by the glorious singer and her strange arias.
A few minutes later, drained of all adrenaline, my head resting on my duffel, all memory ceased.
When I woke there was still the roll and rumble of the cart, the mutter of voices, and the walls of the box began to close in. I didn’t know where we were, how far from Breakwater, whether or not Aidan might have found me missing from Hob’s Hallow, whether he had returned suddenly to the city to seek me out, whether Brigid had betrayed me or he’d pulled the information from her by some unpleasant means, so I kept my mouth shut, bit down on the desire to kick and hammer and scream to be released. I thought briefly of my cousin’s farewell, of asking her why she did not go with Mr Ellingham, and her reply: ‘Aidan would hunt me down and he would kill Orin. He’ll hunt you too, you know. Hide yourself well, Miren.’
I shift position for I’ve grown sore and cramped. I put a hand out to steady myself against the automaton and feel something give in her chest. I start guiltily, praying I’ve not broken anything, and when there’s nothing further to suggest I’ve destroyed Mr Ellingham’s pride and joy, I begin to whisper to the automaton, one of my favourites from childhood.
* * *
I was sixteen when he plucked me from the sea.
Caught in his fisherman’s net, I thought I would drown until he lifted me into the too-small boat and began to hack at the rough fibres to release me. I should have known then how soft his heart was, to see him ruining a net so, but I was terrified. In his haste he cut me, split the skin down by my tail a good eight inches and saw the two fine-boned ankles lying within. He sat back, astonished, and I fought my way free of the pelt until I was naked and shivering in my human skin, huddled at the bottom of that little, little boat.
His family told him to throw me back, to return my other skin and send me home. He refused.
I learned his language and gave him children, two boys and three girls, all in the space of ten years. We were happy, for a long time, in our cottage on the tiny island inhabited by no more than ten families. They were all related, his cousins at one remove or other. And they were dark, some of them, so I knew they had selkie blood for all they thought themselves better than me. It made me laugh to see his mother come a-visiting, mouth all twisted like she’d sucked on something bitter, she with her black-as-the-sea-depths hair and eyes so pitchy you couldn’t tell the pupil from the iris. She’d look at my children, her grandbabies, and something in her face would soften as she watched them frolic on the seashore like pups. Sometimes she’d look out to sea and she’d wear a longing expression that her mind didn’t know, but her blood did.
We were happy until my man began to drink. I’d made him prosperous for the shoals gather where selkie wives bide. His nets were never empty and the purse was always heavy from the sales at the mainland markets. The money it was, that led him astray. He would come home drunk, barely able to row across the short span of water separating us from the town, throw himself onto the bed and snore fit to bring the roof down.
When I begged him to stop he turned on me, called me fish and beat me for daring to question him. He was no longer the man who had saved me from a net.
I could simply have gone to the beach, knelt down and spoken to the waters, told the fish to go away. I could have pulled my old pelt down from the top of the cupboard where he’d hidden it all those years ago (as if I wouldn’t sniff out the scent of my own skin). I could have taken to the water once more and left them all behind, but my children held my heart. My pride yearned though, for revenge, and I called up a storm just as my mother and aunts had taught me long ago; called it up one eve as he rowed home, worse for liquor and new-found temper.
They say there had never been such a storm and there’s never been one since. I found him the next morning, when my anger burned low and regret took its place. He lay across the rocks, his clothes torn, his limbs broken. There was a skerrick of breath left in him.
I made my way to the cottage, ran back down to the rocks.
He was already very cold, limp, and for a while the selkie skin would not take hold. When I began to despair it took a grip at last, adhering to his shoulders, down his back, across his chest and limbs, and finally up his neck and over his face. He coughed; it sounded like a seal’s bark. Wriggling, he heaved himself out of my arms and flopped down the rocks to slip into the cold sea.
He comes often, not only when I sing. Our children swim as well as their seal blood allows and they play together; somehow they know it is their father, although I have not told them, and they seem not to grieve. Some nights, I simply sit there with him damp and warm beside me, and we speak of things beneath the sea, things I will never again see.
There’s no knowing who first wrote that one down in the big book, if it’s truth or a pretty lie. But there’s love and loss, revenge and redemption. I wonder what happened in her ever-after: how long she lived as a human, how long her children stayed with her, what happened after she died. Did she turn back to a seal then? Or become nothing more than sea foam, nothing more than dreams?
I think of the little poppet so briefly beneath Brigid’s mattress. It wouldn’t have done her any greater harm than nightmares, but I find I don’t carry that hatred for her anymore. She was used by Aoife, shifted about like a pawn under the guise of keeping the family safe. Perhaps I should have put the doll under Aidan’s bed, let him suffer, but it wouldn’t have worked quite the same for I made it specifically with Brigid in mind. It might have caused him some discomfort, however there’s no point in me handing him another thing to use ag
ainst me: if I prove too much trouble, he could accuse me not only of my grandmother’s murder, but of witchcraft too. They keep telling us, all these god-hounds, that magic great and small has gone, yet that’s just wishful thinking on their part. They cannot burn every single woman, tempting though it might be.
I find I’m exhausted again by the skittering and scampering of thoughts, and I settle down to sleep once again.
15
I’m sitting up beside the little man on the driver’s seat of the covered cart. Behind us the automaton’s box quietly rattles with our movement. A few hours out of Breakwater, the caravan came to a halt and Mr Orin Ellingham set me free, much to the interest and amusement of the troupe, who peppered their leader with questions. A lad, Ben I think his name is, asked ‘Are we recruiting like this now?’ and laughed at his own joke.
‘You could probably do with a break, Miss,’ Ellingham said and pointed me to the woods off the side of the road. Dignity be damned, I fair ran to relieve myself after hours in captivity. When I returned, a grinning woman with red-white hair offered me brown bread with cheese and jam and a mug of hot tea, all of which I scoffed. I could smell my own sweat and the musky scent of the automaton’s clothing, which surely haven’t been washed in a long time, and I wondered when I’d next have the chance to bathe; it didn’t bother me enough to ask or try to find a stream.
By then he’d told his people that I was in trouble and needed their help, that I’d cause no difficulty (we both hoped). Call her Molly, he said – which wasn’t the same as telling them my name – and I could see from the grins and lifted eyebrows that they knew this too. There were nods and tips of caps, but no more questions were asked and I wondered how often it happened, that they smuggled people from bad places. Part of me wanted to relax then, but I couldn’t help but feel Aidan was mere seconds from arriving; the back of my neck burned as if his breath was too close.
I hoped the feeling would lessen and a few hours later, it seems to have settled into no more than a low hum in a corner of my mind. Two roan horses plod ahead, drawing us along; behind come the prettily painted wagons and carts bearing the remaining twelve souls of the troupe. Actors, actresses, singers, jugglers and clowns all have at least two other roles – driver, cook, props master, wardrobe mistress, scene painter, general dogsbody. The road is not so well-maintained as those closer to cities and towns and villages. We’re winding through a forest of oak and yew, a lot of scrubby underbrush ranging off into the distance to be lost in shadow. There’s just birdsong and the occasional fox cry, some snuffling of things that might be badgerish but diurnal.
To the left, between the trees, I spot a house or what’s left of one. As we continue on, there are more buildings, all ruins. Most are overgrown with vines, tall grasses creeping across their steps and porches and up walls, but the timbers that can still be seen are as black as ash. Ellingham notices me looking.
‘ Southarp,’ he says. ‘They say an abbot put it to the torch after the townsfolk burned his lover as a witch.’
I shiver. ‘And no one ever rebuilt it?’
‘Abandoned. They say he made a bargain that no one would escape. They say the ghosts remained for long years until one day they were gone. Never seen one there myself though in all the time I’ve travelled these roads.’ He grins. ‘Perhaps they hide when we come past.’
‘Do you ever camp here?’ I keep my eyes on the ruins. Did I see the swift blur of a white mist darting behind a tree? Or is it my imagination?
‘Oh no. Even if I were willing, this lot?’ He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the troupe. ‘Gareth would never allow it. Yellow as piss, he is.’
The man driving the wagon behind shouts something rude; he can’t hear us but I’m guessing this is simply a repeated action. He knows when Ellingham points thusly an insult is attached.
He nods. ‘First came by here with my Da – he brought this lot together after Mam died and he couldn’t bear to stay in one place anymore. I guess I caught that from him.’
‘Do you ever consider settling down?’ I think about Brigid.
He shakes his head. ‘Not really. Who’d keep them in check?’ Again, the thumb; again, the profanity.
‘Miss Molly, Miss Molly!’ A voice from beside me, half manly, half boyish. I look down into blue eyes; the lad, Ben, running along by us. His eyebrows join in the middle. He’s holding out a wildflower, vibrant purple. I take it with a grin.
‘Thank you.’
He hares away, his cheeks burning, back to one of the other wagons.
Ellingham snorts with laughter. ‘Won a heart, you have.’
‘Speaking of which, how long have you loved my cousin?’
He startles and I touch his arm gently to calm him.
He sighs. ‘You noticed, did you?’
‘Only because I was looking, I suppose.’
‘I met her four years ago, the first trip to Breakwater without my Da. I was a bit older than Ben then but not much.’ He frowns again. ‘I’d known Aidan a while before that, when he was different – he was a friend to my father too. He brought Brigid to the theatre one night and I thought I’d never seen anyone so pretty.’
I say nothing, cannot remember a time when Aidan behaved differently, but then I suppose men do not behave the same with each other as they do with women.
‘We didn’t say much, then, but I made a point of running into her the next morning.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I delayed our departure by five days, ruined the schedule but it was worth it.’
‘Aidan can’t possibly know?’
‘Oh, no. Even when he was a friend, even then he’d not have approved of me courting his sister.’ He shakes his head ruefully. ‘You remember? When he wasn’t as he is now?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I say honestly. ‘My family… the O’Malleys are the source, the core, and all those offshoots like the Fitzpatricks… aren’t proper O’Malleys, do you understand?’ The look he gives me says not. ‘They’re lesser for all they’ve got more money than us. It’s the name, you see, the name that carries value and no one’s ever thought twice about making the non-O’Malleys feel bad about their lack.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s stupid, I know, and it’s caused a lot of resentment. What I’m trying to say is that we’re not close.’
‘But didn’t you see him and Brigid growing up?’
I shake my head again. ‘Very little. Or rather Brigid for a while but… my grandmother didn’t like that.’ I purse my lips, think about Aoife destroying my only friendship. ‘My grandparents kept me very isolated. Tried to make sure I was… untainted.’
‘And how did that work?’
I think of the green-eyed footman. ‘Rather less well than expected.’
He laughs and I continue, ‘Aidan never paid me any mind until my grandfather died... after that Aidan and my grandmother made a deal. Oh.’ It strikes me for the first time that perhaps Óisín’s death was all they were waiting for. Perhaps that was what he and Aoife argued about in his last days, when I could hear the shouting falling down the tower like water, but couldn’t make out the words. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been telling me that the marriage was for everyone’s good because he was the one preventing it from happening... ‘Oh.’
Ellingham doesn’t notice my distraction, talks on. ‘Aidan was always ambitious but for a long while he was fun, and a good man to have on your side. He didn’t walk over everyone and anyone to get what he wanted.’
‘Then what happened?’ The idea of an Aidan who could gain friendship let alone loyalty without paying for it strikes me as ludicrous. But as I’ve just told Ellingham, I didn’t know Aidan much at all before all of this, so I should listen and learn.
‘The first time I noticed the change was a couple of years ago when we returned to Breakwater to perform, he came to the theatre as he always did, but he wasn’t so friendly. It wasn’t like being greeted by an old comrade, but like he thought he was better than me. He spoke sharply to his sister and I could see she didn’t
like it either, wasn’t used to it. When I asked Brigid later what had happened, she said he’d made a large investment and it wasn’t doing well. He was stressed, she said.’
‘Then?’
‘The next year we returned, and Brigid was no happier. She said his financial crisis had passed, but only because he’d taken a loan and as far as she could tell it was costing him more than he could afford. Brigid had asked to go away, to a finishing school somewhere like Lodellan.’ He licks his lips. ‘He told her she wasn’t going anywhere beyond his reach. She was as much a currency as anyone else in this world, and she’d be married off when he could make best advantage of it.’
‘Did he take the loan from Bethany Lawrence?’ I think of the blonde woman at the theatre, the way she looked across at me. At Aidan.
‘Brigid didn’t know for sure, but that was her guess. That the woman offered him a bargain and he’s been beholden to her ever since.’ He shrugs. ‘It changed Brigid’s life, not for the better, and she says she lost her brother though he still walks the house, eats meals with her, speaks with her.’
‘I wonder what the deal was?’ I look at him curiously.
He laughs. ‘How would I know? You’re his family. I only remember that he no longer wanted to meet for a drink at the taverns when I arrived. Brigid and I got much sneakier then for neither of us wanted to consider what he might do if he found us together, friendship and family be damned.’
‘And she won’t run away with you?’
‘No, whether because she can’t bear the idea of the life of a lowly travelling player or because Aidan would surely hunt her down, I cannot say.’ He pauses. ‘I don’t think I want to find out.’
All the Murmuring Bones Page 13