Edith, page 10
‘I believe I’ll have mine in my study, Philomena,’ says Cameron. ‘Bring it through for me, would you? I’ll go ahead and see if I can riddle up the fire.’
Edith is taken aback. How can Cam contemplate going off to be alone at a time like this? They need to stick together. Has he ever taken tea with Philomena and Mrs O’Shea? She can’t recall an occasion. From time to time, she sits in the kitchen at their invitation, enjoying the companionship and local gossip. Storing away some of their colourful phrases for future use. But her brother has lived most of his life away from Drishane, in army quarters. Probably, he hasn’t spent real time with the servants since boyhood.
Edith claps a hand to her forehead.‘The Hurleys! They’ve been tied up in the stables all this time! We need to see to them.’
‘Bit of a risk going out just yet,’ says Cameron. ‘They said someone was watching the house. Intolerable to be given orders by one’s social inferiors, but the world’s gone mad.’
‘We’ve got to help the Hurleys!’ She sets aside her tea.‘They’ll want hot drinks and a chance to get warm, Philomena. They’ll be chilled to the bone.’
‘I’ll fetch some blankets. Heat them up on the clothes horse in front of the stove,’ says Mrs O’Shea.
‘Do.’ Edith opens a drawer in the kitchen table and removes a carving knife.‘I’m not leaving Mike tied up for one minute longer, Cameron.’
She steps out into the yard. The night is as black as a bog hole, the moon all but invisible behind a cloud bank, but she’d know her way round the stable yard blindfolded. Sniffing the air, she is surprised to realize it must have rained while they were being held. The ground underfoot is damp, and she can smell fresh horse droppings – poor old Samson.Their sacrificial goat.
Purposeful as a cat, she moves across the yard. The bittersweet perfume of laurel is unloosed into the night air. The leaves are poisonous. She’d like to force-feed them to the whistler.Tara recognizes Edith’s footfall and whickers to her. Edith considers calling words of reassurance – but on second thoughts, it wouldn’t do to alert a watcher.
The lonely bray of an ass travels across the fields. Tara neighs again. Mike mustn’t be able to speak or he’d call out to Tara. Some of those Irish words he uses on her.The moon pops out from behind its cloud cover, as suddenly as a pea from its pod. It is like the surface of a drum, full and round and waiting for something.
Footsteps tread behind. She turns, heartbeat pelting. ‘I’m coming with you.’
It’s Cameron. Grateful, she nods.
The stables smell of horse sweat, the warm breath of animals and leather harness. None of the lanterns are lit. Cameron produces a torch.
‘Mike?’ Edith calls.
Tara stamps and clatters her hooves against the side of her stall.
‘I’ll see to you in a minute, milady. Mike?’
‘Hurley?’ says Cameron.
Muffled sounds.
‘They’re in the tack room,’ says Cameron.
Tara snorts.
‘Just a minute, girl. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,’ says Edith.
Edith follows her brother into a wood-panelled room where riding equipment is stored.The torch beam shows Mike Hurley propped against one wall, his nephew Ned against the other. Both are wearing gags and are bound hand and foot, tied to wall-mounted metal rings.
‘Mike, Ned, are you hurt?’ asks Edith.
Mike shakes his head.
‘Give me your knife, Edith,’ says Cameron.‘Here, take the torch and hold it steady.’ He tears off the gag and begins hacking though Mike’s ropes.
‘They took Samson,’ croaks Mike.
Cameron moves on to Ned Hurley and begins to release him.
‘I know,’ says Edith. ‘Poor old trooper. How are you? Did they hurt you?’
Mike stands up, rope puddling at his ankles, holding onto the wall for support.‘Not me. But Ned took a belt to the side of his head. Is your ear still ringing, Ned?’
A wince and a nod.
‘You’re bleeding, Ned,’ says Edith.‘I can see it along your ear. Come into the kitchen.We can take a proper look at it there.’
‘They outwitted us,’ says Mike. ‘Captured Ned down by the gates and used him to trick me into going to them.’
‘I was their bait to trap Uncle Mike.’ Ned chafes at the flesh on his wrists.‘One of them gave me a thump with some kind of bludgeon. Even so, I wouldn’t call to him like they wanted me to. But there was one lad with a hand grenade. Said he’d pull the pin and ram it down my throat. Meant it, an’ all. You could tell. So then I did it. I shouted out. “Mike, Uncle Mike, come here, I want you!” And they got their hands on the both of us.’ He shudders.
‘You did the right thing,’ says Edith.‘Come into the house, the pair of you look frozen. Ned, we’ll get that wound of yours patched up tonight. But I’m calling the doctor in the morning. You can’t take any chances with head injuries.’
Uncle and nephew reel towards the door.
‘What did you make of their leader, Hurley?’ asks Cameron.
‘That lad in charge has them well in hand, Colonel. When he says jump, they hop to it.’
‘Could you identify him to the authorities? Or any of the gang?’ A sense of unease vibrates from the Hurleys.
Edith intervenes.‘Let them be for now, Cameron.You go ahead with the men. I want to check Tara over.’
‘You and your horses.’
‘Horse. There’s only one left now.’
‘Damn thieves. Don’t hang around, old girl. It’s not safe out here.’ ‘It’s not safe in the house either, is it? Anyhow,Tara’s had a fright and I’m going to sort her out.’ ‘Have it your own way.’
Edith enters Tara’s stall and speaks softly to her, the horse’s nostrils ruffling at her.
‘Poor girl, you’re missing Samson. Did you wonder what those strange men were doing?’
Tara tosses her head and blows through her nose, a harrumphing sound.
‘I bet you’d have thrown them if they tried to mount you.You’d show them.’ Edith tangles her fingers in the young mare’s mane, chilled skin warmed by Tara’s body heat. ‘All’s well,’ she says.
Except it isn’t.
—
Back in the house, Philomena and Mrs O’Shea are tending to the Hurleys’ needs while Cameron stands about brooding. He signals to Edith to step into the passageway.
‘Just a minute, Cam. Jeremiah in the gatehouse. Has anyone thought about him? What if he’s tied up, too?’
‘They didn’t come in by the road,’ says Ned. ‘I’d have spied them if they had.They came across the fields into Drishane. From up somewhere by the O’Driscoll castle, I’d say. A couple of them crept down towards the gates when I was watching the road, ambushed me that way.’
‘They could have been camping out by the O’Driscoll ruins,’ says Cameron.
‘Even so, we should look in on Jeremiah,’ insists Edith.‘He could be bound and gagged, for all we know.’
‘I’ll find out.’ Cameron gives Edith a significant look. ‘When I’m back, there’s something you need to see.’ He lifts the torch and sets off in the direction of the avenue.
There’s too much to do to waste time puzzling over what he could possibly mean. She trains a lamp on Ned Hurley’s cuts, cleaned by Philomena. They look nasty. One of them is still oozing. She fetches her medical kit from the bathroom to dab on some antiseptic, and afterwards ties a bandage around his head. When that’s done, she goes to the little Dooley-shaped mound in a corner of the kitchen and kneels beside it, pulling off the towel used to cover him. He is stiffening already. But he’s still Dooley, her devoted companion. Bed will be empty tonight without him. She strokes the leaf-shaped patch above his eye.
The back door opens and Cameron stamps in. ‘Old Jeremiah heard nothing. Or so he says. I had the devil of a job rousing him.’
‘Sleeps as sound as a pound, does Jeremiah,’ Mrs O’Shea puts in. ‘Sure the house could tumble about his ears and he’d never stir.’
‘Damned peculiar at a time like this,’ says Cameron. ‘Edith, a word with you, please. Bring a lamp.’
She follows him out to the passageway, past the glory hole, as far as the boot cupboard.
‘This is what I was trying to tell you earlier,’ he says. ‘I checked my study. They searched it, judging by the state of the place, but nothing seems to be taken. Surprisingly, I have to say.’
‘Good.’
‘But they left something behind.’ He stoops and lifts something from the ground. ‘Look what I found.’ Dangling by the laces from Cameron’s hand are the IRA man’s discarded brown boots.‘One of those thugs must have helped himself – the cupboard door was lying open. Nincompoop left his own behind. But it’s a stroke of luck, don’t you see? They can be used against him. Prima facie evidence, those lawyer chappies call it. There’s a bootmaker’s name on the inside.’ He pulls aside the tongue to reveal the inner back. Made by J.J. Carroll of Listowel. ‘He’ll know who ordered them. We can trace these back to a member of that cut-throat crew we had the privilege of hosting tonight, and he’ll lead us to the others. That ringleader chappie’s the one we need to get our hands on. Cut off the head of the snake and the body collapses.’
Edith realizes her good turn is about to send trouble to the door of that boy’s family. But she can’t tell her brother. ‘Cam, we escaped lightly tonight.The house is still standing.They seemed happy enough with what they took. What if they hear about us co-operating with the authorities and pay a return visit? To punish us? Or warn others off?’
‘I don’t know, Peg. Those blighters could go after the Coghills, the Chavasses, the Bushes – any of us. Would you really care to have that on your conscience?’
‘There’s no protection to be had from the military or police.We have to help ourselves.’
‘I devoted my life to the army. I can call in favours.’
A bank of weariness descends on Edith. ‘It’s been a long night. Let’s discuss it in the morning. We should all think about trying to snatch a few hours’ sleep. I expect the Hurleys want to go home to their own beds. But I wonder if we shouldn’t keep Ned here overnight, on account of that head injury.’
‘That’s another thing.The Hurleys.They recognized some of the blighters, I’m convinced of it. But they’re insisting they knew none of them.’
‘Can you blame them?’
‘They owe us their loyalty.We’ve given their family employment for generations.’
All things considered, their first duty is to their own skins, thinks Edith. But she understands that Cameron feels unmanned by the raid. She pats him on the arm.‘You’ve done really well, Chimp. No one could have handled things any better. Now, bed for me as soon as I talk to Ned Hurley. We can discuss this again in the morning. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’
—
Next morning, in that dream state between waking and full consciousness, Edith feels something warm and damp on her cheeks.‘Dooley,’ she mumbles. He’s licking her face to tell her it’s time to get up. Abruptly, she remembers he’s dead. She sits up, fingers to her face. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Desolation washes over her. Dooley’s loss grieves her more than her mother’s ruby ring, or Samson’s seizure, fond though she was of the game old hunter. She swings her legs out of bed. If she lies on, she’ll yield to a weeping fit.
Before breakfast, Cameron digs a grave under an ancient oak tree, majestic in its branchiness, where Dooley liked to scrabble and sniff. Edith waits while her brother shovels, the little fox terrier’s body held tight to her chest. He is wrapped in an embroidered shawl she bought in Rome a couple of years earlier, on a trip with Ethel Smyth. She can’t part with his blanket, because it retains his smell, but she won’t allow him to go into the earth uncovered. When the hole is dug, she finds she can’t bring herself to lay him in the pit. Cameron has to take the bundle from her, and Edith looks away as earth is spaded over her Dooley. She gazes at the tree, distancing herself from the mechanics of what’s happening. Hardly any leaves left. But he’ll have the greenest of canopies next spring.
‘There now, nice and deep. And you can visit him here whenever you like, Peg.’ Cameron is panting from the exertion.
Incapable of speech, she manages a nod.
‘Let’s have some breakfast now, old girl.’
Edith doesn’t move. She wants to be left on her own with Dooley. Just for a few minutes.
‘We must keep our strength up, Peg.You can’t survive on cups of tea.’
Appeal brims from her eyes.
‘Have it your own way. Come in when you’re ready.’
Alone with Dooley, she allows her mind to drift. Such a feisty puppy – fearless from the start. Hated being separated from her.When she went out in the dogcart, he’d scamper alongside, doing his stubby-legged best to keep up until she relented and lifted him in. He was meant to sleep at her feet, above the covers, but there were times she woke to find that damp wee nose a few inches from hers on their shared pillow.
‘Martin, will you take care of him on the other side?’ she whispers, and a rustle of branches overhead gives the response she needs.
Moving with care, as though in danger of fragmenting, Edith returns to the house. Soon, she is seated opposite Cameron in the morning room, all the familiar trappings about them. Edith looks at her blue duck’s egg. The idea of food is repellent but she can’t buckle now. She decapitates her boiled egg and dips a spoon in it.
Cameron is fussing with Loulou, who’s clingy this morning and begging to be allowed onto his knee. ‘Just this once, Lou,’ he cautions, and feeds her some buttered toast.The Pomeranian licks his fingers with her disproportionately long tongue, lapping up buttery residue.
‘About the boots,’ he says over Loulou’s head.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve decided to hold on to them. Possible evidence when things are more settled. But for now, I think we should keep our heads down. Not draw attention to ourselves. It’s galling to let them off, Peg. But needs must. They’ll get their just desserts in the end.’
‘Whatever you say, Chimp. I’ll be advised by you.’
He touches the knot on his tie, his expression suspicious, but decides to take her at face value.
Edith manages a wan smile at her impeccably turned-out brother.After a lifetime in the army, he always looks spotless. She always looks dishevelled. Except perhaps in her riding habit at the start of a hunt. She smooths down the wings of hair on either side of her face. Last night, she tossed and turned in bed, tearing the top sheet – one of Mama’s French linen ones, which she always saved for favoured visitors. How she’d have scolded Edith.
‘Nevertheless, Peg, I’ll pay calls to some of the neighbouring families and alert them.’
‘Good idea. Tara could use a jog out. It’ll help to settle her after last night. More tea?’
‘Thank you. By the way, I thought you told me our ancestors had thrown a spirit cordon around Drishane and we’d come to no harm? Where were they when we needed them?’
Edith has been gnawing over the same conundrum.‘I heard Martin’s voice telling me not to antagonize the men. It was good advice.’
‘We could have used something more practical by way of assistance. How did those louts even gain access to the land if our ancestors had the place barricaded?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll ask Martin.’
He glooms over his teacup. ‘If you ask me, the locals are up to their necks in rebellion.They’re as nice as pie to our faces but they aren’t loyal. To us or the Crown.’
‘I don’t know how loyal the Crown is to us, Cam. The Government has mishandled the situation dreadfully. They persist in treating the Irish as naughty schoolchildren, and make no allowances for the sense of rage that’s been building over the past thirty years. A bit more common sense all round would go a long way.’
‘You always stand up for the Irish, Edith.’
Why not? I’m Irish, after all. So are you.’
‘Not that sort of Irish. And another thing. I’m not happy about Jeremiah in the gatehouse. For all we know, he could be in on what happened last night. I find it damned peculiar, him sleeping through everything. Not sure I believe him. I think we should dispense with his services. Let him find a new billet.’
‘He’s lived there since Grandpapa’s day. Raised a family of six in that little house. Stayed on as a widower after Delia died.You can’t turf him out.’
‘Oh, can’t I? I’m Master of Drishane. I can do whatever I bally well like. Let one of his daughters down in the village take him in. Or his sons. That’s a decent-sized farmhouse two of them have on the road to Skib, however they got their hands on it.’
‘You know very well they made money in America. Cameron, you’re being unreasonable. You don’t know Jeremiah had anything to do with last night.’
‘I know he was asleep on the job.’
‘He’s not a night watchman, he’s a gardener.’
‘It’s highly suspicious, him sleeping the whole way through the raid. He must have heard something. Seen lights.’
‘The gatehouse is at the bottom of the avenue.You can’t see the house through the trees.’
‘I don’t care. He’ll have to go.
‘Cameron, stop it. Just stop it. Jeremiah O’Mahony has worked in our gardens for half a century. Our grandfather trusted him. Our father trusted him. If you throw him out, I’ll put him up in one of my houses in the village. Rent-free.’
His cheeks flame. ‘It’s outrageous that armed men should be free to trespass on my land, and walk into my property, bold as brass. As if they owned the place.The world’s gone mad.’ Cameron pushes back his chair and stands up.‘My land and my property,’ he repeats. ‘And no one cares. There’s no one to complain to.’
‘I care.’
‘I mean no one in authority. Once, I could have whistled up a police inspector to deal with this. I’ve a good mind to take this further. I could go into Skib and see the commanding officer of the Sherwoods. I served with his brother.’
‘Please don’t cause a fuss. It’ll only make things worse. The Govern- ment has abandoned us.We have to use our own wits to get through this.’
