An Irish Hostage Read online

  “Could she have had anything to do with Michael’s disappearance? Your grandmother?” I came right out and asked.

  “She never goes out. How could she have arranged it?”

  “She must have friends in the village,” I said. “And there’s the priest.”

  “I don’t want to believe such a thing.”

  That didn’t make it any less true. But I said nothing.

  Eileen glanced around the room. “Let’s go into the kitchen. We can talk there.”

  I looked around for Major Dawson. He had moved toward the door to the hall, and my valise was in his hand. He quietly stepped out of the room, and then I heard his footsteps on the treads of the stairs.

  I followed her to the small kitchen, where she poured both of us a little wine. “I’ve never been fond of wine,” she said. “But it has got me through this day.”

  We sat at the kitchen table, and Eileen looked forlorn as she said, “Who could want to hurt Michael? Or me?”

  “It may not be personal,” I told her. “Or Michael could have enemies of his own. How did his family feel about his serving the English King?”

  “His father died in 1912. Typhoid. His older brother was killed at Ypres, and his younger brother is in seminary, to be a priest. His older sister is not happy about his service, but she’s married and has three children to care for. It hasn’t been easy for them, and Michael has helped her more than once. Money, mostly, but he also put the fear of God into her husband, stopping him from drinking. His younger sister is a nun.”

  “Does he hold a grudge? This brother-in-law?”

  Eileen frowned. “I don’t know—they live in Belfast, and I’ve never met him.”

  I put the question another way. “Is he a staunch Republican?”

  “Oh, yes, when he’s in his pints, he’s a great one for talking about the Cause and down with the English, but when he’s sober, he’s a mouse.”

  But sometimes mice can fight viciously if cornered.

  Changing the subject, I asked, “Is it possible that Michael had a very good reason for leaving abruptly? Illness or trouble in his family, for instance. And didn’t want to alarm you, expecting to be back in a matter of hours?”

  “He’d have told me, for fear I’d worry if he was held up. We’ve been apart for so many years, and now we can’t bear to be out of the sight of each other.”

  I remembered Diana telling me how much she longed for the war to be over, her duty done, so that she didn’t have to face separation after separation from the officer she loved so deeply. Diana, who could have had any man she set her cap for, beautiful, accomplished, sophisticated Diana, falling for a man who had barely escaped being tried for a murder he hadn’t committed. A lovely man, I had liked him immensely in the end, but I would never have guessed that he would be a match for my flatmate at Mrs. Hennessey’s.

  I had never felt that kind of love. In 1914, I’d been young, too carefree to think about marriage. There hadn’t been time during the war to worry about the future. Now that it was here, my friends were dead. I’d been quite fond of several. And, of course, there was Sergeant Lassiter, the Australian who had proposed to me in France . . .

  It struck me suddenly that the man I might have loved and married could very well have died in France or on the sea or in the deserts of the East, before we’d ever met. And that was a very unsettling thought.

  Eileen said, “What is it, Bess? You looked as if someone had walked across your grave.”

  “Not my grave, or that of anyone I know,” I managed to say. “No, I was just thinking how fortunate you and Michael have been. Both of you survived the war and found each other afterward. I find myself envying your happiness, and wishing for my own.” I smiled, to let her see I wasn’t serious about my envy.

  She reached out and gripped my hand. “You’ll find someone, Bess. What about that lovely man who flew you here?”

  I laughed. “I like Captain Jackson very much. But I don’t seem to be in danger of falling in love with him. He’s an American—and I think he loves flying most of all.”

  Her eyes twinkled for a brief moment. “There’s the Major. He hasn’t flown away.”

  “I’m sure the Major would be shocked to hear you giving away his heart quite so cavalierly.” But it was good to see her distracted from her own troubles.

  “Well, you can’t have Terrence, you know. Not if you want to return to England. He’d be in great danger there.”

  The handsome Irishman, with the scarred face? The image of him on one knee before me or gravely asking the Colonel Sahib for my hand nearly brought on a fit of laughter that I had some difficulty suppressing.

  Eileen asked, almost affronted, “Is it so comic, his danger?”

  Sobering quickly, I tried to make amends. “No, of course not—I was just thinking how my mother would face policemen arriving in the midst of my wedding. She’s quite formidable when she needs to be, but of course you couldn’t know that about her.”

  “Sadly, my mother would be the first to hide. Caught between my father and my grandmother, she lost any spirit she’d ever possessed.”

  But I thought she must have possessed quite a lot in the beginning, because she’s passed it on to her daughter.

  Before I could say anything about that, the door opened, and Terrence came in.

  Looking from Eileen to me and back again, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “We were talking about my mother.”

  I was surprised that Eileen had told him what we’d been discussing. If she trusted him that much, it warned me to be careful what I told her.

  He said, “She was a different woman as long as your da was alive. It’s Granny changed her. God knows, I walked in fear of her myself, even into university. But I came to ask, shall I bring dinner from the inn, for you, your mother, Sister Crawford, and Granny? You’ll not feel much like waking up the cooker tonight.”

  “Could you please? I’d be so grateful. Still, I’ll put the kettle on, and we’ll have some tea. Have they gone? The searchers?”

  “I sent them out again. Eileen, there’s one fear I have that you’ll have to face. The sea is just there, and if he was put aboard a boat, he could be anywhere by now.”

  Her face paled. “They wouldn’t kill him and throw his body into the sea?”

  He took a deep breath. “Until we know why he was taken, there’s no certainty about anything. My people don’t have him. I’m ready to swear to that.”

  “But you’ll be related to Michael when we marry. They might have taken it on themselves to rid the family of a traitor. To please Granny if not you.”

  It was almost a growl. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  I had known that feelings had run high in Ireland ever since the Easter Rising had not succeeded. What I hadn’t realized is that bitterness and anger and a desire for vengeance had split families and even the countryside into factions that often must be at odds with each other—and therefore dangerous because of their very deep feelings. Feelings that sometimes mattered more than people.

  Had Michael Sullivan of Belfast crossed the wrong faction?

  How could anyone tell where the lines were? This meant of course that I could take nothing—no one—for granted. Perhaps not even Eileen.

  Terrence was saying, “Stay here, make your tea, and keep an eye out for Michael. He could return as quietly as he went. Bess can go with me to help with the parcels.”

  “My place is here,” I said quickly. “In the event Michael is hurt—wounded. I can help him.”

  “You’re to come with me, show your face to the world in my company—protected by me. And you’ll keep your ears open for anything said about Michael.”

  Major Dawson, downstairs once more, wasn’t happy about that invitation, when we left the kitchen and started to walk out the front door. Nor was Eileen, who had argued with her cousin for a good ten minutes before I told her that it was all right, I’d be glad to help in any way I could. The Major was not as e
asily put off, but Terrence was adamant that he should stay at the farmhouse.

  “You’re a reminder of things best not stirred up,” he said bluntly. “Not until we have Michael safe.”

  And so Terrence and I walked quickly across the lawn to the lane, and followed it into the village.

  I’d seen the sea as we came down in preparation to land, but my attention had been on the meadow, and I hadn’t realized that the village was actually set at the head of a small harbor of fishing craft. Water came up into what appeared to be a narrow inlet, the mainland to the east, and a broad finger of land between it and the sea to the west.

  We came out of the lane onto the dusty road and walked down that for a little distance before we came to the church, set on a slight rise. At the foot of this knoll, whitewashed village houses, most of them no bigger than crofts, were crowded together between church and harbor. Nearer the water were the shops and an inn, all curved around the little port. Half a dozen fishing boats rode at anchor there, moving with the incoming tide, while gulls circled lazily above them, waiting for them to go out again.

  “It’s a poor village, at best,” Terrence was saying, breaking the silence between us. “Granny owns a fair-size property. It came down in the family free and clear, though the story goes that we had an ancestress who slept with an English lord and was given the property when she discovered she was pregnant. I’d not mention that to Granny. She likes to tell a different version, that the land was given to an archer who saved the laird’s life in battle. For all I know, he was husband to the lady who served in a different way.” He grinned at me, expecting me to be shocked.

  I said, “And no one has tried to take the property away from you?”

  “Oh, they’ve tried, but the lady made a good bargain, and passed the parchment down, to prove it.”

  We had paused to take in the view. “Why is the church here, not in the middle of the village?”

  “It was rebuilt here after raiders burned an earlier church close by the water. Where the inn stands now. Twice they did that, and stole the church silver, killed the priests, among other atrocities. Still, you can see this church tower from the sea. A torch on the roof has guided the fishing boats in more times than I can remember, when the night was stormy.”

  I wasn’t sure whether Terrence’s tales were just that, or the real history of the village.

  Moving on, we followed the single curving street into the heart of the village, and made our way toward the inn. Long before we got there, I could hear the music.

  I was also aware of the stares. I’d never had an opportunity to change out of my riding clothes, but that wasn’t what drew attention. The searchers must have taken home with them an account of my presence. The women of the village were curious. Dressed mostly in black, with black scarves on their heads, they must have found my dark red habit rather daring, in spite of its sober cut.

  Terrence, enjoying the spectacle, was chuckling quietly to himself.

  He held the door for me as we reached the inn and walked to the pub entrance. The bar took pride of place, but the tables scattered about it and the hearth were empty. The music I’d heard appeared to be coming from the direction of a short but dark passage on the far side of the bar, and Terrence led me down that into a back room. It was fair-size and filled with men smoking heavily. The air was hardly more than a blue haze. At the far end, a group of musicians was playing violins and those oddly shaped Irish pipes and a small set of drums. A tall, thin man was also holding a violin and singing a ballad. I couldn’t understand him, but clearly the rapt audience did. I could tell, though, that the subject matter was tragic from all the long faces in the room.

  As soon as he caught sight of me, coming in with Terrence, the singer stopped in midsentence, and the music faded almost as quickly. The spell broken, everyone wheeled to see what was happening. The tension in the room rose, then fell as they saw it was Terrence and not a threat. But the stares my way were decidedly unfriendly.

  Terrence grinned at them all, took a violin from one of the players, fitted it under his chin with accustomed ease, and began another tune. It was rowdy, but the mood was slow to change.

  I stayed where I was, trying not take note of the intense scrutiny. I was reminded of my early training, trying to dress a wound properly while Matron and the doctor watched with arms crossed.

  A man stepped forward out of the crowd and challenged Terrence while he was still playing.

  “Why did you bring her here?”

  “Because, boyo, she’s here for my cousin’s wedding, and that means she’s a guest in my house. She’s to be treated as such, or I’ll know why.”

  “There’s no wedding without a groom,” another man said.

  “Ah, but it’s only delayed a little. He wandered off, the dear man. He’ll find his way home again, I’ve no doubt of it.” He hadn’t missed a note, his fingers flying across the neck of the violin as his other hand deftly used the bow.

  He sounded so sure that it made me wonder just what he did know about Michael’s disappearance.

  Coming to the end of the tune, he handed the violin back to its owner with a little bow, and then, pointedly ignoring the tall, thin man, he started back toward me.

  I happened to catch the expression in the singer’s eyes as he watched Terrence, and if looks could kill, Eileen’s cousin would be falling down dead on the floor. When he realized I’d seen what he must have been thinking, he quickly looked away. For some reason, I had the feeling that he wasn’t sure enough of his own position to challenge Terrence, as if he were an outsider, not a local man.

  “And would you like a drink, love?” Terrence was asking, the perfect host. But I could see a spark of anger in his eyes, that he’d been questioned quite so openly. And that had surprised me as well—I’d gathered that he was the local hero and everyone admired him. But twice now, in my presence, he’d been challenged. I wasn’t really sure why that had happened, but it could well mean that there was another faction in the town. And that complicated the problem of who had taken Michael.

  I was expected to give him an answer. What should a lady drink in an Irish pub, that didn’t smack of being English to the core? A sherry was out, as was a cup of tea.

  He seemed to sense my uncertainty, and said lightly, “The snug is this way.” And he led me back down the dark passage into the pub again, and nodded toward a curtain on the far wall. As he swept that aside, I realized there was a small room behind it. As I went in, he said quietly, so that only I could hear him, “Take a seat in here.”

  And then he was gone. A few minutes later, he brought me a glass of porter, which he said Irish women drank in their homes.

  I said, looking at it, “Is that all you’ve put in the glass?”

  That flash of anger crossed his face again. “You’re Eileen’s maid of honor. I’d not be getting you drunk in a public house.”

  Smiling, I tasted it, then set the glass down. He picked it up, drank it slowly, and put it down, empty now. Then he walked out, leaving me sitting there with the glass. When he came back, he was carrying a basket. “We can go now.”

  And we left the pub.

  I hadn’t realized until I was outside, walking back up the hill, how tense I had been.

  “Do you think it worked? Taking me there?”

  “The word will get out. You’ll be safe enough for now. All the same, I’d stick close to the house, if I were you. But please God we find Michael soon and see the wedding over and done with. The quicker the lot of you are out of the village and out of Ireland, the better.”

  He appeared to mean that. And I took it to heart too. I was beginning to understand just how many undercurrents there were in everything that went on here.

  Granny was at her window as we came down the lane to the house, and when we were close enough, she called, “I thought we’d seen the last of her.”

  “I can hardly drown her in the sea.”

  “I don’t see why not,” she retorted,
and pulled down her window before he could reply.

  “Why is she so bitter?” I asked as we came up to the front door.

  “You haven’t lived under foreign rule, have you. Or you’d know.”

  And he moved ahead of me to set the basket down before running lightly up the steps and disappearing in what must be the direction of his grandmother’s room.

  Picking up the heavy basket, I found Eileen in the kitchen, her face anxious.

  “What happened?”

  Smiling, I said, “I was introduced to the village, I believe. And given a glass of porter. Fortunately Terrence drank it for me. No harm done. And we have our supper.”

  “You never know with Terrence,” she said darkly. “Leave the basket on the table and come away upstairs to my room. You’ve hardly had time to settle since you got here.” As I followed her toward what appeared to be the back stairs, behind a narrow door in the far wall, she added over her shoulder, “No word of Michael, then?”

  “None,” I said. “Did you expect there to be?”

  Ahead of me, she opened a door into a large, comfortable room with windows on two sides. I saw that the Major had left my valise at the foot of the bed.

  “This was my parents’ room.” She nodded to the framed photographs on the wall. “I took it over after my father died. My mother couldn’t bear to stay in here, and I gave her my room.” There was a brass bedstead against the wall facing the window, and she lifted my valise to set it there so that I could unpack. “Michael and I were to spend our wedding night in this room. And leave the next morning for Dublin. If you don’t mind sharing, I think it’s best if you stay with me.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, looking at the wedding gown hanging from a hook between the windows. “It’s a lovely gown, Eileen.” I walked over to it, admiring the lace.

  “It was my mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “The lace came from Belgium. For a miracle, it fits me. I’m a little taller, but as slim. We had to let out the waist a bit, but that’s all.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. “I can’t bear to see it now.”