Cave of Secrets Page 12

  When Herbert Fox arrived to pay a call on Elizabeth, she told him what she knew of the situation. Fox, a grizzled man with yellowed teeth and sour breath, was as puzzled as the girls. ‘Why have you not sent someone to fetch the boy home long before this?’ he asked Catherine Flynn.

  ‘A broken leg can take a long time to heal,’ she said. ‘Tom is being well minded where he is, and does not have stairs to climb.’

  ‘Where is he exactly, Mrs Flynn?’

  She would not meet his eyes. ‘Not far away. Among friends.’

  ‘Your mother will not give me any direct answers,’ Fox told Tom’s sisters. ‘I am convinced that something is wrong. I shall send my own men to bring him home. It is my duty to your family, Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Her clenched fists were hidden in the folds of her skirt. ‘We appreciate your concern, Mr Fox, but you are not yet part of this family. I think it best if we accept our mother’s decision.’

  After he left the room Virginia broke into laughter. ‘I cannot believe you defied him, Lizzie!’

  ‘My knees were shaking,’ her sister admitted. ‘But I am so tired of always doing what some man tells me. Besides, he could not find Tom anyway unless Mother told him where to look.’

  Caroline said, ‘Do you think she knows?’

  ‘I am certain of it.’

  My dearest Kate,

  Thomas Wentworth was created Earl of Strafford on the 12th of January and appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland on the 13th of January. His new position gives him complete dominion over this island, second only to the king. I have hitched my wagon to a shooting star! I remain here in Dublin awaiting his triumphal return. While I wait I am making some new financial arrangements in anticipation of the future. A bright future it will be for all of us, Kate. I promise.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The End of Winter

  Epiphany came and went. St Brigid’s Day approached. The weather was as cold as ever but the daylight lasted longer. Tom’s leg itched unbearably. He could not stop clawing at the bindings. Every time Bríd changed them he begged her to leave them off entirely.

  One morning she said, ‘If your leg was not bound, Tomás, could you walk unaided?’

  ‘I could of course.’

  ‘Then you are ready to go home. Young bones mend quickly.’

  ‘I mean, I think I can walk. But maybe not. I’m sure I’ll still need the stick.’

  Bríd’s eyes danced with amusement. ‘Do you want me to re-bind your leg after all?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said, embarrassed to be caught out.

  That night on the pillow they shared, Bríd told Muiris, ‘The time is right. We cannot keep Tomás away from his own family any longer.’

  Her husband lay silent in the darkness. She listened to his breathing until she fell asleep.

  The following morning he asked Tom to come outside with him. The boy was delighted, thinking he was going to help Muiris. One look at the man’s serious expression in the daylight told him otherwise.

  ‘You are happy with us, Tomás, and we are happy with you. Never doubt that.’

  Tom’s heart sank. ‘You’re going to send me home, aren’t you? Please, for my sake, let me stay. For another week?’

  ‘For your sake I would,’ Muiris replied. ‘This is for the sake of someone else. Tomorrow I will take you in the currach.’

  Tom made a deliberate effort to enjoy his last day with them. But he felt like a traitor. Now that it was a certainty, he had to admit to himself that part of him really did want to go home. To see his mother and his sisters again, to sleep in his own bed-closet and eat the sort of food he had eaten all his life.

  When it was time to leave, Donal and Maura accompanied him to the boat. The little girl had tears in her eyes. ‘You’ll come back soon, Tomflynn?’

  ‘I will of course.’

  Donal held out a closed fist. When he turned it over and opened it, a striped sea shell lay on his palm. ‘This is the shell you found,’ he told Tom. ‘The first day the three of us were together.’

  ‘It’s Tomflynn’s ’pology!’ Maura exclaimed.

  ‘Take it with you,’ said Donal.

  ‘I gave it to you, it’s yours now.’

  ‘Bring it back to me when you come.’

  As the currach pulled away from the shore Tom looked back at them. He felt an awful ache in his throat.

  ‘Would you like to help me row, Tomás?’

  ‘Yes, please!’

  Seen from the water, the cove appeared smaller than he remembered. Nor was the cliff above as steep. ‘There is a sort of path behind those rocks,’ Tom told Muiris. ‘It’s easier than it looks. I think I can get to the top by myself.’

  The man ignored him. Rowing to water’s edge, he jumped out and pulled the currach onto the beach. ‘Help me turn this over, Tomás.’

  Muiris went straight to the foot of the hidden path as if he knew where it was. ‘Bring your stick,’ he called to the surprised boy.

  As they neared the top Tom said, ‘I can go on from here, Muiris.’

  ‘So can I.’

  They set off across the windswept earth together.

  A mile was a greater distance than Tom remembered. He leaned on the stick, but soon that was not enough. Muiris knew before he did. He swooped the boy into his arms and carried him until they were in sight of Roaringwater House. ‘You might want to walk from here, Tomás. In case anyone sees.’

  ‘Are you going back now?’

  Muiris squared his shoulders. ‘I am not going back now.’

  They marched to the front door together.

  Virginia and her mother were in the hall, discussing possible repairs for the Persian rug. ‘There is no one in Munster who could mend it properly,’ Mrs Flynn declared.

  ‘Then let me try.’

  ‘Your pride outruns your ability, Virginia. One mistake could ruin it forever. Then what would your father say? No, I think the best thing to do is to send the rug to Dublin.’

  ‘Will that not be expensive?’

  ‘Very, I suspect. But it will be a nice surprise for your father when he comes home. And we should be able to afford it by then,’ she added.

  A powerful fist pounded on the front door. Both women gave a start. Mrs Flynn glanced around for a servant to answer the summons, but there was none in the hall. She went to the door herself. Virginia followed her.

  The heavy door creaked on its iron hinges. The woman said over her shoulder, ‘We must have this oiled before–’

  She stopped. Put one hand to her throat.

  ‘Dia dhuit, a Chaitríona,’ said Muiris Ó Driscoll.

  Virginia edged past her mother, who seemed to have grown roots where she stood. ‘There you are at last, Tom! Come into the house at once. You gave us such a fright!’ Without glancing at his companion, she flung her arms around her brother and gave him a hug. Then she swept him into the house and shouted for her sisters.

  Catherine and Muiris stood looking at each other.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Reunion

  ‘I did not expect you,’ Catherine Flynn said faintly.

  ‘Tomás is not strong enough yet to come by himself.’

  With the ghost of a smile, she replied, ‘It is not such a great distance.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘not such a great distance.’

  ‘But too far for you until now.’ There was reproach in her voice.

  He did not respond.

  ‘Not too far for your children, though,’ she went on. ‘They are yours, are they not? Donal and little Maura?’

  ‘They are mine.’

  ‘You can be proud of them, Muiris.’

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘As you are proud of Tomás and your three daughters.’

  ‘How did you know I have three daughters?’

  ‘Two are pretty,’ Muiris went on, ‘and one, I believe, is clever. Cleverness lasts longer than beauty, Caitríona.’

  Her hand flew to her cheek.


  ‘Who is this person?’ Elizabeth demanded to know. ‘Are you one of the villains who kidnapped my brother? Father said there were pirates in the bay, but I never–’

  Mrs Flynn turned away from Muiris, saying, ‘I want to see my boy.’ When she hurried into the hall, he followed her.

  They found Tom sitting on a chair, with Virginia and Caroline standing on either side of him. They were doing the talking, their words overlapping one another in their excitement. In the shadowy room the boy looked pale. The walking stick was propped beside him.

  His mother’s eyes went straight to the stick. ‘So you did break your leg. Oh, my poor baby!’

  ‘Stupid of me,’ said Tom. ‘I was running and slipped on the ice. I fell down a hill. Or off of a hill, I’m not sure what happened exactly.’

  ‘What were you running from?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘I wasn’t running from anything, Lizzie. I was going to visit my …’ Tom met Muiris’s eyes. Those intense eyes that could see right through him. ‘My friends. My best friends. They took care of me until I was able to come home again.’

  His mother looked around for a chair so she could sit down too. She felt faint but she refused to give in to it. My people do not faint, she told herself.

  She beckoned to Muiris to come and stand beside her. His eyes asked a question; she answered it with a nod. She took his hand. Held it tight. ‘This man is more than a friend,’ she said. Reaching down inside herself for the voice she had submerged for so long, the confident voice with the accents of the Gael. It was rusty from disuse, but she forced it into her throat. ‘This is your uncle.’ The voice grew stronger. ‘My oldest brother, Muiris Ó Driscoll of Roaringwater Bay.’

  Caroline gasped.

  ‘That’s impossible!’ cried Elizabeth. ‘We cannot be related to pirates!’

  Muiris said with quiet dignity, ‘I am not a pirate. Even if I were, I would not apologise for it. Piracy is a respectable profession – from time to time. The English queen knighted her favourite pirates. Have you heard of Sir Walter Raleigh? Sir Francis Drake? Or Sir Fineen Ó Driscoll, the greatest of them all?’

  Tom’s sisters struggled with their shock. Their mother made it worse by bursting into laughter. ‘Muiris, you have not changed a peg.’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Did you think I would?’

  She stopped laughing. ‘No. I did not think you would change.’

  ‘You changed, Caitríona.’ He made it sound like an accusation.

  Tom and his sisters looked from one to the other, trying to make sense of their conversation.

  ‘I had to change, Muiris. To live this life, I had to become the woman I am now.’

  He scowled. ‘You did not have to live this life. You had a choice.’

  ‘A chroí! From the day I first saw William I had no choice. And he felt the same way. Father understood. That is why he agreed to my dowry.’

  ‘Which impoverished the rest of us, and built this monstrosity of a house!’ Muiris said angrily, snatching his hand away from hers. ‘Has any of it made you happy, Caitríona?’

  ‘My children make me happy.’ The soft voice again. The lowered eyelids.

  Elizabeth said, ‘I do not understand. Did you pay for Roaringwater House, Mother?’

  The voice became a whisper. ‘William built it with my marriage portion.’

  Virginia said, ‘You were right, Lizzie. We are traded like animals. How large a dowry do you suppose Father offered Mr Fox to take you off his hands?’

  Elizabeth went white.

  ‘Stop this!’ cried Tom. ‘You’re tearing at one another!’

  Muiris looked down at his sister. ‘After this house was built there would not have been much left of your dowry, Caitríona. Not enough to buy fine clothes and furnishings. The land itself is barren; only sheep and goats can survive on it, and not many of either. How does Liam Ó Floinn support you?’

  ‘He has investments, I believe. Something about the East India Company? We never discuss it, though. William says I could not understand finance.’

  Her brother’s expression softened. ‘Oh my poor Cáit. What has your wilfulness cost you? Your son is right, he is a wise boy. We are tearing ourselves apart over a war that was won and lost long ago.’

  Tom felt as if a bag had been opened in front of him and its contents spilt out on the flagstones. Not shining gold ingots, but dark secrets dredged up from the bottom of a black sea. He wanted to be anywhere else but here. ‘Take me home with you, Muiris? Please, please take me home!’

  ‘You are home, Tomás,’ said Muiris. Looking at Catherine Flynn, he added, ‘You have to live your own life. I cannot give you a different one.’

  She wilted under his gaze. ‘Are you abandoning me again, Muiris?’

  ‘I never abandoned you. When your husband was away I sometimes came near the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And your children.’

  ‘I never saw you.’

  ‘You never looked for me.’

  ‘I did,’ Elizabeth said unexpectedly. ‘I was not looking for you, exactly, but for someone. I desperately wanted someone. – anyone – a prince to rescue me, or God to make everything all right for me. Someone.’

  Her mother turned towards her in astonishment.

  Seizing his opportunity, Muiris gave Tom’s shoulder a quick squeeze and strode from the hall – and the house – before anyone could stop him.

  * * *

  Mrs Flynn retired to her chamber. She called for a cloth soaked in lavender water to place on her forehead, and said she did not want to be disturbed.

  Tom’s sisters descended on him like a flock of seagulls on a fish carcass. ‘Is he really our uncle?’ ‘How did you find him?’ ‘Does he have a family?’ ‘Is that where you were going last summer?’

  Muiris only answers the questions he want to answer, Tom reminded himself. ‘My leg hurts,’ he told his sisters. ‘I want my bed now. Will one of you help me up the stairs?’

  When he was in his bed-closet with the panel firmly closed – and the questions shut outside – he tried to put the pieces together in his head. This was like one of Seán’s colourful tales about the Milesians or the Tuatha dé Danann, a tapestry woven of many threads. Yet this tale was true. And the threads led to him.

  Does every family have secrets? Are all children as ignorant as I was of the astonishing past which produced me?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Return of Mr Flynn

  Roaringwater House was turned upside down. The appearance of Muiris had been like a thunderbolt. The servants talked of nothing else. There was excited whispering in the kitchen and chattering on the back stairs. Some claimed they knew everything. Others said they knew nothing but were eager to be informed. One or two merely smiled and kept their mouths shut.

  Mrs Flynn emerged from her room the following morning, but she discouraged conversation and would not talk about her brother at all. Tom also evaded his sisters’ questions. He used his leg as an excuse, though he was no longer in pain. Bríd was a true healer, much better than the barber/doctor from Ballydehob.

  The boy wanted time by himself to sort out his thoughts. He wished it were summer so he could go swimming. The days were gradually growing longer, but the water was still very cold and he did not trust his leg.

  He tried to be satisfied with looking out the little window in his room, gazing towards the bay.

  I have the threads, he thought, but I don’t see the whole pattern. Am I related to Fineen Ó Driscoll? Was he my grandfather? My great grandfather? Is his blood in my veins at all?

  Tom wanted to know and was afraid to know. Afraid of being disappointed by the answer.

  During the next few nights he had nightmares, though they were not the same as before. Now they featured a faceless man dressed in brocades and high leather boots. He carried a great, curving sword with a hilt of gold. Sometimes the man threatened Tom with the sword. In other dreams he gave the sword to the boy as a gift.

 
The thunder of hoofbeats on the frozen carriage road broke the spell which had fallen over Roaringwater House. Within moments they heard shouting, then Simon’s cry, ‘The master’s home!’

  William Flynn had not returned alone. He was mounted on a superb new horse and accompanied by four other men who were equally well mounted. They all wore new clothing, if travel-stained, and had plumes in their hats.

  Flynn tossed his reins to the stable boy and slid from the saddle as if he did not ache in every bone and joint. His wife and children hurried to greet him. During the months of his absence Tom’s vivid imagination had pictured far too many tragic scenes involving William Flynn. Now here was the man himself, thankfully alive and well. Though a bit thinner.

  ‘William!’ his wife exclaimed, aghast. ‘Have they fed you nothing in Dublin?’

  ‘On the contrary, I ate very well,’ he assured her. ‘Do we not eat well, men?’ he asked his four companions.

  They laughed and nodded. With an extravagant wave of his arm, Flynn ushered them into his house. His magnificent Roaringwater House, created through his own cleverness. Safe now, thanks to his courage and persistence. He felt wonderful. In the glow of his mood even his son was a welcome sight. ‘Look at you, boy! I wager you have grown two years’ worth in half a year!’ Flynn gave Tom a fatherly punch on the arm.

  The boy blinked in surprise.

  Flynn kissed his wife on the cheek and hugged each of his daughters in turn. ‘I have presents for all of you,’ he said. ‘New Year’s presents, even if they are a little late. But welcome anyway, eh? Eh?’

  His family nodded in unison. They were watching him in fascination. With the exception of his wife, none of them had ever seen William Flynn exuberant.

  He introduced his four companions as ‘members of my company’ and called for tankards of beer to be served to them immediately.

  The men took over the great hall as if they were holding court. They threw off their travelling cloaks and tossed them to Simon. He neatly folded all five, though he did not look happy. Caring for the outerwear of strangers was beneath his rank in the hierarchy of servants.