“The fee went up a wee bit, if you don’t mind.” The bald man nodded to his companion, who flung Clare’s pack over his shoulder. They departed, passing the nook where Clare and Pierce cowered breathlessly.
After a few steps Mr. O’Connell shouted back to Pence, his voice echoing through the alleyway. “My brothers took your boy for a swim. Good luck getting paid.”
The two of them cackled and returned to their bantering, which trailed as they faded from sight.
Clare leapt from the shadows and went over and smothered Pence with her arms and tears.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Clare. That was foolish for me to lose your pack.”
“You’re sorry?” Clare realized her body was quivering.
“I should have given them a good comeuppance,” Pierce said.
“What did they mean about Seamus?” Clare asked.
“It’s not good,” the boy said. “Follow Pence.” He grabbed Seamus’s pack from Clare and flung it on his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Miss Clare. Won’t lose this one. Promise you. But if your brother is where I think, we must hurry.”
They were on the run again, and without a pack, Clare had less difficulty keeping pace. She soon discovered they were only a few streets removed from the water’s edge, and they gulped the viscous sea air as their labored breathing and heavy steps accompanied the screeching of gulls and the creaking of the great, shadowy skeletons of ships moored in the harbor.
Pence came to the entranceway of a long, wooden pier, and after shedding the pack on the ground, he hurtled down the rattling timbers with the tail of his coat flapping in the wind. Pierce dropped his pack as well, with Clare scampering right behind them.
When Pence arrived at the cap of the pier, he collapsed to his knees. And after peering over the edge, he turned toward them and waved frantically.
In a moment, all three were there to see a body hanging upside down, tethered to the pier by a frayed cord.
“Seamus!” Clare screamed.
The rope had been measured in such a way that his head was under the water. His only means of survival would have been to pull up with his legs to keep from drowning, but it appeared the fight was gone.
Her anger at Seamus for his foolishness vanished with the thought of his suffering. “Please, dear God. Let him be alive.”
Pence and Pierce grunted under the strain of pulling up Seamus’s lifeless body and Clare tried to as well, but there was no room for her until the hem of his pant legs were in reach. And with her assistance, they had his cold form on the splintered planks of the dock.
Clare wrapped her arms around him, desiring to give him every last breath of her warmth as they untied the rope from his ankles. “God. I beg You. Don’t forsake me.”
She stroked Seamus’s cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. Even with her uncontrollable sobbing, she could smell the reek of whiskey, which gave her hope he was breathing.
A noise came from his chest and then Seamus gurgled before water and then vomit spewed from his mouth. It was a joyous sight to Clare, and she tilted his head to the side. His pale flesh was frigid to the touch.
“Get me a blanket,” she shouted.
“There’s a bonfire over there.” Pence pointed behind them.
Clare followed the trace of his finger and saw the lapping tongue of a distant fire lighting the darkness. With a clumsy start, and having to readjust their grip several times, they lumbered down the pier and onto the shoreline in the direction of the flames, nearly dropping Seamus several times.
As they approached, she saw a rudimentary camp had been erected on a grassy hill just above the woodworks of the harbor. Peppered around were several dozen slumbering on the ground, but a few remained awake and huddled around a diminishing fire. The startled faces, their eyes glistening as gems in the light of flames, soon arose to assist them, and in a few moments, Seamus was close to the heat and wrapped in wool, with many caretakers looking down at him with concern.
Several attended to stoking the flames with pieces of flotsam gathered from the waters. Clare leaned over Seamus and caressed his face with her hand and fallen tears. He was groggy but color appeared to be returning, and he struggled to open his eyes.
“Here is some hot tea,” said a woman with broad shoulders and a bent to her hip. Clare received the mug, which was warm to the touch.
“Help me sit him up,” Clare said without pause for manners.
The woman chided her companions. “Shame on all of us. We should have aided the boy.”
“Muriel, dear. Your words are true.” A man with ever-smiling puffy cheeks had eyes of remorse. “We thought it proper to keep out of it.”
“And because of our cowardice?” Muriel said. “The poor boy’s nearly gone.”
“It was far away,” the man said, this time for Clare’s ears. “We heard shouts, but it was hard to see. Still, we knew someone was in trouble. If we were in our own town, I suppose.”
“It’s a grievous excuse.” Muriel shook her head. “You’re welcome here now.”
A young man came with a stack of blankets and laid them beside Clare.
“I understand.” Clare looked at Muriel. “We would have behaved the same.” She put the mug to Seamus’s lips. “Drink,” she urged him and he did.
Muriel pulled some cheese curds from her pocket and handed them to Clare. “I’ll stay up with our visitors,” Muriel said to the others. “Off to bed, you all. Long day tomorrow and maybe the Lord will forgive us.”
They were tired enough to acquiesce, and with Pence and Pierce returning to the pier to retrieve their packs, Clare and Muriel were alone to tend to Seamus.
“Clare.”
“Seamus!”
“Clare. I lost it all, didn’t I?”
“Rest now. It doesn’t matter.”
“Clare. Why didn’t you let me drown?”
“Shhh.” She ached for her brother. “Not another word.”
“It’s what I deserved, isn’t it?” He spoke with hollowness in his voice. “Perfect that way, don’t you think? You should have left me.”
Seamus closed his eyes and soon he was sobbing, and Clare cried with him. Muriel wrapped an arm around her.
Oh, why did she ever leave home?
Chapter 11
The Shores of Cork
Clare felt a tug. As her eyes opened, she saw the full light of the sun haloed around Pierce’s face peering down at her. She blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness and then lifted her head to catch her bearings.
Seeing Seamus beside her revived the horror of the prior evening, and she leaned over to see how he was faring. He was sleeping deeply with his usual snore. But despite a swollen eye and a cut on his nose, there was little evidence of last night’s tragedy. Although plagued with misfortune, often wrought from his own hands, Seamus was always resilient.
Clare peered around her and discovered the entire camp had vacated without much of a trace.
“You two slept through it all,” Pierce replied to her unspoken question. “Dozens of them, whole families all but trudging on your head.”
“Is that so?” She sat up and stretched her arms.
“Yes. And I think we should go with them.”
“Go with them where?”
“They’re taking passage on a ship leaving this morning and they told me there was room left, but not much to spare.”
“Pierce. We have nothing left. No money. It’s lost.”
“I told you already.” Pierce helped Clare to her feet. “My father gave me plenty for provisions. We’re down a good bit, it’s true, but I have enough to get us on that ship, I believe. We’ve already got supplies.”
“I have no bag. Nothing left. We’re too much of a burden, my brother and me. But you go. For all of us.”
/> “No,” Pierce said sternly. “I want to do this for you, Clare. For you and your family. More than anything I’ve ever wanted. You can’t refuse me. Not this time.”
Clare felt itching in the back of her scalp. She scratched deeply as her mind spun through her options. What good would it be to limp back to Liam without a penny? The Hanleys would be ruined. She was the family’s hope, as bleak and onerous as that sounded.
“Are you certain?”
“I’ve never been more sure.” Joy filled Pierce’s face and he picked up both his and Seamus’s bags. “We gotta go. We can’t miss that ship.”
“What about him?” She pointed to her brother.
“He’ll have two months to sleep. We just need to get him aboard. That’s all.”
“I don’t think he’s fit.”
“Listen, Clare. You know your brother well enough. As soon as he gathers himself, he’s going to go back to those men to try to get his money back. And he’ll be dead for his efforts.”
There was no denying this logic. Pierce was right. They needed to get Seamus out of Cork and right away wasn’t soon enough.
Pierce bent down and shook Seamus gently. “Hey, old boy. Up with you. There’s a ship full of young ladies calling your name.”
Clare reached down and together they lifted Seamus to his feet, and as he rose, he pushed them away.
“I can carry meself just fine.” He rubbed his temples.
“With haste,” Clare said, surprising herself how quickly she had been persuaded to Pierce’s reasoning.
“Where to?” Seamus yawned.
“We’ve got passage for a ship that may have left,” Pierce said.
“But it’s all gone . . .”
“We’ll explain it all later but we must go.”
Seamus reached to get his bag from Pierce, but Clare interceded. “Let me haul it just until your strength finds you.”
“Where’s your pack?” he asked gruffly, but she chose not to answer.
They trotted and soon turned around a bend of the shore into a burst of activity along the harbor lined with massive piers and hulking timbered vessels. The sun had only newly risen, but the roads spilling up to the docks were already overflowing with droves of people emptying from horse-drawn carriages and pushing hand wagons. They meshed with the longshoremen and sailors unloading and lifting in bulging cargo of barrels and wooden crates and vegetables. Pigs and children engaged in a tapestry of dance on land as did sailors on the rigging and the seagulls, terns, and herons in the sky.
The three stopped and stood in awe of the majestic ships that stood before them. Beautifully crafted wood giants, with masts reaching heavenward and sails prepared to unfurl with full glory. Ropes as thick as a man’s thigh threaded with a seamstress’s touch. Crews pranced from crow’s nest to boom with urgent artistry.
“Come on,” Pierce said, pulling them out of their trance.
“Which one is it?” Clare just stepped out of the way of a woman shoving a cart so full of strange objects it appeared she stacked the full contents of her home.
“The woman from last night . . .” Pierce began.
“Muriel.”
“Yes. Muriel said to go to where the dock ends, and there we’d find them.”
The energy of the shores and the sudden fear they would be left behind hastened their step, and they proceeded through the congestion in full pursuit. Finally, just as Clare thought they had run out of dock, they rounded a corner and a sight sprung up that caused her to slow in dread.
Before them was a creaking, retched mass of ancient wood, held together by moss, barnacles, and frazzled ropes. The hull of the vessel was weathered, waterlogged, and blackened by the battering of salt water, and there were scars where cannonballs had once breached. The sails were yellowed and quilted with patches, and the masts had a bow to them that made them almost smile with sadness. It was a once-proud warrior, tyrannized in its submission to commerce.
On the side of the ship were faded painted letters that read Sea Mist, and Clare quickly spotted Captain James Starkey himself overseeing the clamoring of crew and passengers, in full uniform with his arms folded tightly behind his back.
“Well,” Pierce said. “Should we wait for another ship?”
“I’m afraid if we don’t get on now, we’ll never go,” Clare said.
A woman’s voice railed from the deck, and Muriel waved a red handkerchief. “Hurry,” she shouted, and others beside her were beckoning them as well. Some of the crew were beginning to untie the mooring. They were out of time.
“Let’s go,” Pierce said.
Suddenly, Clare’s apprehension gave way to concern of whether they could force their way through the horde of well-wishers before the ship launched.
Pierce led the way and took the brunt of disgruntled looks and cursing as he shoved people out of the way. Clare tried to apologize to each of them as she followed but soon abandoned it in futility. Finally they arrived at the walkway leading to the ship just as the gate was being closed.
“Wait for us!” Pierce shouted.
The porter at the gate wore a ragged blue shipmate’s uniform that was inadequate in containing his belly. His face looked as if it had been crammed into a glass jar. “All right. Three of you? Thirty pounds.”
“Thirty?” Pierce said with exasperation, and Clare could tell he was calculating what he had. “Fine.” He threw down his bag and fished out his money, fumbled through his bills, and handed it somewhat reluctantly to the outstretched hand.
They lifted their bags, and with both relief and defeat, they started forward when the porter raised his hand.
“The lass. Why is she scratching?”
Clare glanced around in expectation he was speaking to someone else.
“Yes. You. Come here.”
Reluctantly, Clare moved forward and the man with cracked, stubby fingers lifted the back of her hair and leaned in with bulbous eyes to examine her. Clare’s body writhed inside in embarrassment and with a sense of violation.
“Hmmm.” The porter’s brow wrinkled and he pursed his lips.
“What is it?” Pierce asked.
“She needs to shave her head,” the porter said.
“What?” Clare took a step back.
“You’re teeming with head bugs, my dear. Captain’s orders. No one comes on board with lice. The health and safety of our passengers, you know.”
“She’s not shaving a single hair on her head,” Pierce spat out.
The porter handed the money back. “Do you want it all back, or just for the lady’s passage?”
Why this? Why me? Clare resisted the temptation to scratch her hair, but now with the knowledge of her affliction, her scalped burned brighter. Her mind flashed back to her stay at the Wayfarer’s Inn and that mold-specked filthy pillow.
There was a part of Clare that wanted to shave it all off and be rid of the parasites. But the idea of losing her hair? How long would it take to grow back? She fought back a sob. Would this ruin any chance she had of meeting the man she dreamed would share her life?
The tension of the moment gave Clare little time to think, and she began to panic. It was clear the ship would leave without her—and soon if she didn’t make a decision.
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Where do I go?” she asked the porter in a wavering voice.
He pointed to a short distance down the dock where a man was sweeping up hair. She left without delay.
“Clare, no!” Pierce shouted behind her.
“You don’t need to do this,” Seamus said. Clare wasn’t expecting to hear from her brother.
She worked her way along the edge of the pier, and the barber greeted her with a nod as she slunk into his chair, streams of tears coursing down her face.
Clare closed her eyes and tried to imagine the faces of Caitlin, Ronan, and Davin to keep her mind off of the agony and shame of the moment. Not only was she pained by the idea of being stripped of her dignity in such a public fashion, but with each cut, Clare felt the barber was taking away much of who she was. How could she feel that way? She had always believed herself to be above the shackles of vanity.
Then she felt warm water, the patting of a towel, and it was done.
“Did you want to see, child?” the barber asked gently, with a looking glass in his hand.
“No,” she whispered. She reached her hand to the top of her head and felt the smoothness of flesh, still warm from the washing. Wiping away her tears, she saw a familiar face peering at her.
“How much did they pay for your hair, Miss Clare?”
“Pence.” She laughed and cried at the same time, glad to see the boy.
He tilted his head. “Pence preferred you with less skin.”
He made her smile, which she was in desperate need of. “I’m afraid we owe you money we haven’t to pay.”
“No matter, Miss Clare.”
“I wish you were coming with us.”
“Maybe Pence will go next time.”
She gave him a hug as if he were her own Davin, her own Ronan. “Be well, Pence. You are a fine, young gentleman.”
Clare felt an arm on her shoulder. She turned to see Seamus with an expression of gratitude and compassion she had never seen from him before. He took off his hat and placed it on her head.
“Are you ready for a new journey?” His eyes were beginning to show life again. “I know I am.”
In a matter of moments they were on board. The ship was lurching away from the slip, and with seeming complaints from every plank of wood, the old vessel pressed away from shore as passengers and those they were leaving behind waved tearfully and exchanged hearty cheers and whistles.
Flight of the Earls Page 9
