Cave of Secrets Read online

  ‘How could I refuse?’

  During the night Tom tossed and turned, but only with the upper part of his body. If any movement reached his leg, the pain woke him. In order to escape he sank back into the soft greyness amid the stars.

  He was unaware that he called out a name.

  Maura heard him, though. Several times during the night the little girl had crept silently down the ladder and tiptoed across the earthen floor to peer into the bedroom. To be certain Tom was really there.

  She woke Donal. ‘Tomflynn wants his mother,’ she whispered.

  Donal replied, ‘I don’t blame him.’ He turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

  Maura was relentless. ‘He doesn’t want to go to that house.’

  ‘What can I do about it?’

  ‘We can go there, Don-don. You and me. We can ’splain to his mother so she will let him stay with us. Don’t you want him to stay?’

  By now Donal was fully awake.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Donal and Maura Go on a Mission

  Catherine Flynn awoke with a start.

  Eithne stood beside the bed. Her woollen night cap was askew. ‘Master Tom did not come home last night, madam.’

  Mrs Flynn sat up. ‘Where is he? What could have happened?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the former nurse said. ‘I didn’t see him leave.’

  ‘Did anyone else see him?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘How can my son leave this house without anyone knowing?’

  ‘Master Tom comes and goes as he pleases,’ Eithne informed her.

  ‘When did that start?’

  ‘In the summer, I believe it was.’

  ‘And no one told me?’

  Eithne hesitated, unwilling to make any dangerous admissions. ‘We thought you knew.’

  Catherine Flynn searched her memory. Were there clues she had overlooked? Had she been too busy with her own problems to pay attention? Her daughters were easy enough, she understood women. But Tom was a boy and she had never understood men. She hated to ask the next question. ‘Has Tom stayed out all night before?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  The household was alerted. The women ran through the house, calling into rooms, opening cupboards. Simon, who had mournful brown eyes like a hound puppy, organised the other men to search outside.

  As the sun was rising they made a discovery – but it was not Tom.

  Simon hurried to tell Mrs Flynn. ‘We found these rascals skulking in the grounds,’ he said. He was gripping the arm of a sinewy boy. The boy’s other hand was clutched by a small girl.

  The boy was flushed with anger, but the girl gave a crow of delight. ‘I know you! You’re Tomflynn’s mother!’

  Before she could stop herself Mrs Flynn exclaimed, ‘I know you too!’

  Maura glanced up at her brother. ‘See? I told you.’

  Simon struggled to keep his face expressionless in this extraordinary situation. ‘What shall I do with them, madam?’

  ‘Leave them with me, Simon, it will be all right.’

  ‘If they make any trouble–’

  ‘They will not make any trouble,’ she said. After he left the room she voiced the questions that were bursting out of her. ‘Who are you, why are you here, and do you know where Tom is? My little boy?’

  ‘Tomflynn hurted hisself and–’

  Donal put his hand over Maura’s mouth. ‘Tomás had a bad fall, but my mother is a healer and she’s caring for him. As soon as he feels better we’ll bring him home.’

  Maura fought free of the brotherly restraint. ‘I’m Maura,’ she said, answering the first question. ‘And this is Don-don.’

  ‘Donal,’ her brother corrected. ‘I am called Donal.’

  Mrs Flynn raised her eyebrows. ‘Donal what? What is your surname – your last name?’

  ‘Ó Driscoll.’

  The woman closed her eyes. Opened them again. Looked from Donal to his sister and back to him. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. And again, ‘Yes.’

  Donal’s curious eyes wandered around the great hall. Noticing the dark, heavy furniture. The bashed-in chest. The chairs disfigured by clumsy repairs. The Persian rug.

  Maura tugged at his hand. ‘I told you!’ she insisted. ‘I told you it’s fancy. I was here, I saw ev’ryfing.’

  Mrs Flynn gave herself a shake like someone waking from a dream. ‘Indeed you were here, Maura. Did I think to invite you back?’

  Maura stared up with huge blue eyes. ‘What’s a ’vite?’

  ‘Good manners.’

  ‘What’s manners?’

  Donal warned, ‘If you let her ask questions she’ll never stop.’

  Mrs Flynn nodded. ‘My Tom is like that.’

  ‘He is like that,’ Donal agreed.

  Catherine Flynn’s knees felt weak. She looked around for the nearest chair and sank onto it. A chair leg creaked a warning.

  ‘I can mend that for you,’ offered Donal.

  She was aware that the servants, and probably her daughters as well, were hovering just out of sight. Listening. She made an effort to raise her voice. ‘We need a pitcher of milk, and some bread and butter. And honey; bring a little pot of honey.’ She turned to Maura. ‘You do like honey? I loved it when I was your age.’

  Maura’s eyes shone like stars.

  While the children ate – sitting crosslegged at her feet, because they refused the chairs – she questioned them. Donal answered as best he could with a mouthful of food and frequent interruptions from Maura.

  At last Mrs Flynn folded her hands and leaned back in her chair. The chair leg creaked again.

  ‘I can mend anything,’ Donal told her.

  Her reply was almost too low for him to hear. ‘Some things can never be mended.’

  She called her daughters to join them. ‘Tom has had an accident and broken his leg,’ she announced. ‘These children were kind enough to bring us the news.’

  Virginia, who had a smudge of blue paint on her nose, said urgently, ‘We must bring him home and send for a doctor straight away. Call Simon back and–’

  Mrs Flynn was shaking her head. ‘Tom won’t have a doctor, and you know it. As for bringing him home, I think it best to leave him where he is for now.’

  ‘We shall go to him, then.’

  ‘No, Elizabeth!’ Her daughters were startled by the unusual strength of their mother’s voice. ‘None of us are going to him.’

  ‘Father would expect–’

  ‘Your father is not here, Caroline. I make the decisions now, and I am making this one.’

  The Flynn girls stared in astonishment at a mother they did not know.

  * * *

  Tom was awake. Looking up, he could just make out the underside of a thatched roof in the dim light. He heard the crackle of a fire on a hearth. His tongue felt thick and the inside of his mouth was numb.

  Where am I? And what’s wrong with me?

  He thought back, step by step. Memory came slowly.

  During the night Bríd had given him a drink which tasted the way ferns smelt. She had made him drain the cup. Afterwards … no pain. Nothing.

  He began to remember other, earlier things. Muiris holding him under the shoulders. Bríd’s square, strong hands locking around his leg. Pain like the world splitting apart, and himself crying out.

  ‘I see you are back with us,’ Bríd said as she leaned over him. ‘How do you feel?’

  He licked his lips. They were cracked and dry. ‘Thirsty,’ he told her.

  She brought him a cup of pure, sweet water, which he gratefully gulped down. It washed the last of the ferny taste from his mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he said. And then, because she was still watching him intently, he added, ‘My leg aches.’

  ‘Your leg aches because you fell and broke it, Tomás. We repaired the leg last night. You are young and strong; the bone will heal well.’

  ‘When will it stop hurting?’

  Bríd replied, ‘The less
you think about pain the sooner it will go away. That is what Muiris always says.’

  ‘Is Muiris here?’

  ‘He is not here, he went to look for Donal and Maura.’

  ‘Were they injured too?’

  ‘Not at all; they rescued you. But they slipped out while we were still asleep. Muiris thinks they went to tell your mother about your accident.’

  Tom was dismayed. ‘That’s the last thing I want! To her I’m still a baby. If she knows what happened she will never let me come here again.’

  * * *

  At first no one else agreed with Mrs Flynn’s decision. Elizabeth said they should pray for guidance before they did anything. Virginia suggested Mrs Flynn might be having ‘an airy fit’. ‘She was very ill for a while, remember? Illness takes people in their heads sometimes.’

  That was enough to switch Caroline to her mother’s side. ‘There is nothing wrong with Mother’s head! I don’t know how you can say that, Ginny Flynn. You’re just trying to make yourself seem more important. Mother would never do anything to hurt any of us. If she wants Tom to stay where he is for now, I am sure she has a good reason.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I trust her. What do you think, Lizzie?’

  Elizabeth looked from one of her sisters to the other. Virginia, so brisk and sure of herself, like their father. Caroline, so soft and gentle, like their mother. Yet obviously there was steel somewhere inside Caro.

  There is steel in me too, Elizabeth decided. ‘Ginny, you have no right to question any decision of Mother’s. I shall trust her too. Keep your foolish opinions to yourself.’

  No one had ever called Virginia foolish before.

  * * *

  Muiris returned to the cabin with Donal and Maura. ‘Look what I found,’ he said.

  ‘They’re soaking wet!’ his wife scolded. ‘Come over to the fire the pair of you, and get warm. And you, Muiris, a hot drink would do you no harm either.’

  Tom propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Did you see my mother? Did any of you see my mother?’

  ‘I saw her,’ Donal told him. His sister jabbed him with her elbow. ‘We both saw her, Maura and me. She is a lady,’ Donal added in an awed voice.

  Tom looked anxiously toward Muiris, but the man was busy heating a kettle over the fire.

  ‘And we saw your sisters,’ Maura said, taking up the narrative. ‘The big one sitted me on her lap and the little one gived me a … a …. what did she gived me, Don-don?’

  ‘A sweet biscuit.’

  ‘A sweet bikkit.’ Maura giggled. ‘With a funny thing on it. What was that?’

  ‘The stamp of the Dutch East India Company,’ Donal said. ‘The lady explained it to me. There was a whole box of sweet biscuits but it was almost empty. We ate the last ones. The lady said we could.’

  Tom wanted to shout at them, but he managed to sound almost calm when he asked Muiris, ‘What did my mother have to say about me?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Elizabeth Finds Courage

  ‘I did not see your mother.’ Muiris was answering Tom’s question, but he was looking at Bríd as he spoke. ‘The children were already on their way home when I met them.’

  ‘Tomás can stay with us until he is stronger,’ Donal announced. ‘His mother told me so.’

  ‘She told me,’ Maura insisted.

  ‘All right, she told you. But only because you kept on and on about it. You know how Maura is,’ said Donal. ‘Once she gets her teeth into something.’

  Tom was amazed that his mother had given her permission. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve. When he was stronger – whenever that might be – he would have to face her. And if she was not furious when she found out about his summer’s activities, his father certainly would be.

  He could not even imagine what his father would do to him. Unless, of course, something happened to his father in the meantime.

  Which would be even worse.

  Not so long ago, life had seemed simple. He had felt like a man. Now he was reduced to being a child again, and helpless.

  Muiris asked, ‘Why were you on the cliffs yesterday, Tomás?’

  Yesterday seemed so long ago. It was hard to remember. There were no words for his feelings. ‘I was coming here. I just wanted to be here.’

  Muiris exchanged a look with his wife.

  At midday Bríd gave him another cup of the ferny-tasting drink, and then some bread and cheese. He did not feel much like eating. Maura sat beside him and tore off bits of bread. Making little cooing sounds, she pressed them against his lips. When he laughed, she pushed them in.

  Afterwards he felt drowsy. There was some pain but only at a distance; it did not really touch him. He closed his eyes for a minute.

  When he opened them it was night again.

  The cabin was filled with people. Seán and Séamus were there with most of the clan. No one noticed that Tom was awake, so he closed his eyes again and lay listening contentedly to the hum of their voices. The good-humoured banter, the earnest conversations, the silly jokes and colourful stories.

  Tom understood more Irish than he would have a year ago. Perhaps someone will sing, he thought hopefully.

  His leg was not hurting. He was warm and comfortable and surrounded by friends. His very good friends. He would have to return to Roaringwater House eventually, but he did not want to think about that. He did not want to think at all, just drift and dream and pretend … pretend he was home to stay.

  The old man said sharply, ‘You are playing with fire, Muiris.’

  ‘When have I not?’

  ‘This fire will burn you to a cinder. Mind what I tell you.’

  ‘The matter was settled long ago.’

  ‘We thought it was. You stir embers with a stick and they flare up again.’

  Muiris said, ‘The stick was not in my hand but in Donal’s.’

  ‘The child’s hand, the man’s arm,’ the old woman intoned.

  The conversations faded away. Or Tom faded away. Into a pleasant dream of sunlight glittering on the bay and a soft wind blowing. The voices of people became the voices of seabirds.

  On the following morning Bríd unwrapped Tom’s leg. With a dry muslin cloth she gently wiped away the thick paste that covered it. ‘This was made from comfrey,’ she explained as she worked.

  They examined the leg together. ‘It’s all shrivelled,’ Tom said worriedly.

  ‘It is shrivelled,’ the woman agreed, ‘but that is from the binding, not the break. There is no swelling, and see how straight the bone lies. Now you must drink a decoction of comfrey. Then we can wrap you up again.’

  The decoction of comfrey was more bitter than the ferny drink. Tom made a face. ‘Isn’t anything else good for broken bones?’

  ‘Many things, Tomás. For a person your age and a break like this, I use comfrey inside and out.’

  ‘At least you don’t bleed me.’

  She looked at him in horror.

  When the leg was tightly wrapped she gave the boy a stout blackthorn stick to lean upon and allowed him to hobble about the cabin. ‘Do not hit that leg against anything,’ she warned.

  ‘Believe me, I don’t want to.’

  Donal and Maura had been sent outside while their mother worked on Tom’s leg. Now the little girl came running in. ‘Tomflynn’s all well!’ she chirped. She was about to throw her arms around him when Bríd stopped her. ‘Be as careful with him as with a bird’s egg, a mhúirnín,’ she warned the child.

  ‘Is he still broken?’

  ‘Not broken, but not mended either.’

  Maura bunched up her forehead in a small child’s version of a frown. ‘He must be one or the other.’

  ‘There is an in-between place, too,’ said her mother. ‘A lot of time is spent in in-between places.’

  Maura looked Tom up and down. ‘When you’re not ’tween will ye play with me again?’

  ‘You can count on it!’ he promised.

 
Tom’s delight at being up did not last long. He tired quickly, and soon was ready to go back to bed. The leg ached. Bríd gave him a delicious pudding made from carrageen moss and honey, then more of the ferny drink. He went to sleep before the sun did.

  Next morning he felt – almost – like his old self. In a few more days he would be well able to return to Roaringwater House. He did not suggest this to anyone. Nor did anyone mention it to him. The temporary bed that had been made up for him in the cabin remained. The blankets were aired, but never folded and put away.

  Bríd gave him a homespun tunic and a woollen coat to wear. ‘These were Seán’s,’ she said, ‘when he was your size. There are some woollen trews as well, but we don’t want to put them over your leg.’

  As Tom’s strength returned he made himself useful. There was always work to be done, work which did not require two sound legs. He opened oysters, he gutted and scaled fish, he sharpened knives and plaited rope and mended baskets.

  ‘Pleasant it is,’ Bríd remarked, ‘to have a man’s help inside the house as well as outside.’

  As soon as my leg heals I can do a man’s work outside, Tom thought with satisfaction.

  Yet Roaringwater House remained on the horizon of his mind like a storm at sea waiting to blow in.

  In their bed at night Bríd and Muiris discussed him in hushed voices. ‘We cannot keep Tomás forever,’ she reminded her husband.

  ‘The boy is making good progress,’ he replied, ‘but healing cannot be hurried, you know yourself. When the time is right we will take him home.’

  ‘Who will take him?’

  ‘I will, Bríd.’

  ‘There is no need for you to go. Send Fergal instead.’

  ‘What sort of chieftain lets others do the hard things for him?’

  Bríd gave a wifely sigh. ‘Your uncle was right, Muiris. You are playing with fire.’

  * * *

  Catherine Flynn ordered the servants to set a place for Tom at every meal. Simon and the other male servants were under strict orders to keep a watch out for him.

  ‘I do not understand you, Mother,’ Virginia complained. ‘I simply do not understand your abandoning Tom to strangers.’