Cave of Secrets
Page 17
Or did he? Who was behind that smiling face? Savages and barbarians, his father had said.
Tom dared not wait any longer for fear he would lose his nerve. Plunge in.
‘You gave me my share of the spices,’ he said to Muiris.
His uncle raised an eyebrow. ‘I did, of course. Do you want more? I am afraid they are all gone now.’
‘You never gave me a share of the gold.’
Tom was afraid Muiris might be angry, but he kept smiling. ‘As much as any of us, Tomás, you are entitled to a share. But we only exchange a little of the gold at a time. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves.’
‘I need money right now,’ Tom insisted. ‘Not for myself; for my mother. So she can keep her house.’
‘I think we had best sit down,’ said Bríd. She motioned to the stools beside the hearth.
With the exception of Maura – who busied herself trying to plait ribbons into her mother’s hair – they all listened intently as Tom told of his father’s misfortune. When he got to the part about the moneylender Muiris stopped him. ‘Was that one of Richard Boyle’s moneylenders?’
‘Yes.’
Muiris slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. ‘There’s irony for you!’
Maura peered over her mother’s shoulder. ‘What’s a sironey?’
‘Irony,’ her father said, still chuckling. ‘Something with an unexpected twist. Tomás’s father does not have enough money to repay Richard Boyle’s moneylender, yet we have a fortune in gold we took from the self-same–’
Bríd frowned at him. ‘Wee Maura does not need to know these details, Muiris.’
‘The moneylender is not going to take our property anyway,’ Tom tried to explain. ‘Mr Fox is. He bought the mortgage on our house and land.’
Muiris stopped laughing. ‘Mr Fox? Mr Herbert Fox?’
‘The same. Why? Do you know him?’
‘I know of him.’ Once again Tom heard the sinister edge in his uncle’s voice.
‘Mr Fox and my father were in business together,’ Tom said.
Muiris sat so still he might have been carved from stone.
Tom continued with the story as he knew it, including Elizabeth’s engagement and William Flynn’s confession. Even Maura was listening now.
Muiris never took his eyes from his nephew’s face.
As Tom spoke, the pattern in the boy’s mind was expanding. Filling in details. ‘Mr Fox has wanted our land for a long time. It would give him a place where he can keep a closer eye on his business. I think his business is trading in stolen goods. He uses men and boats from his shipyard in Cobh to collect the loot smugglers store around the bay. Until my father went off to war, he was selling that merchandise in Dublin for Mr Fox.’
Muiris leaned forward. ‘I swear to you, Tomás,’ he said earnestly, ‘I was unaware that your father was Fox’s agent. We were but one of the links in a chain. Our only connection with Fox was through his boatmen. When we had valuable items for their market we left word at–’
‘The Castle of Gold,’ Tom interrupted.
His uncle’s mouth dropped open. ‘How could you know that?’
‘The night you told me the story of the castle, you said we would not land there “this time”. That could only mean you landed there at other times. What better place to leave secret messages than an abandoned castle people thought was haunted?’
‘Muiris always said you have a head on your shoulders, Tomás,’ Bríd remarked.
‘I have a head too!’ Maura piped up. She patted her unruly curls with both hands.
Muiris stroked his lower lip. ‘You put me in an awkward position, Tomás. We have just brought the first money from Limerick. It is in this house tonight, waiting to be distributed to the members of our sept. It might be a year or two before we have the entire amount. Although I do not know how large the mortgage is on Roaringwater House, I can make a guess. You may need it right now, but your share of the money we have here might not be enough.’
Tom felt his heart sink. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Wait a moment.’ Muiris went into the bedroom. There was a sound of furniture scraping across the packed earth floor.
Muiris returned. The timber box he carried was not much bigger than Catherine Flynn’s tea chest. This one was not brass bound and highly polished. It was weathered and tied with a rope. Muiris set it on the table and untied the rope.
When he lifted the lid they saw that the chest was full of coins. Maura clapped her hands.
Muiris began removing the coins. ‘This is a gold unite,’ he said, holding up a gleaming coin. ‘A new English coin, the equivalent of a sovereign. And these are old gold sovereigns. Here we have silver crowns and half crowns. And some shillings, because they are easier to spend. We do not accept anything smaller.’
While they watched, he arranged the coins into equal stacks on the dresser. ‘This is my family’s portion. This one belongs to Séamus and his wife, this is for Seán, this will go to Fergal and his parents, and this …’
There was a stack of coins for every family in the narrow valley, as well as the six or seven others who lived farther up the river. The stacks were equal in size. When the chest was empty, Tom said, ‘What about my share?’
‘I planned to take it from my portion when we had all the money,’ Muiris told him.
Tom’s face fell. ‘I can’t wait until then. We’ll be living … I don’t know where we’ll be living in a year or two. But no place as nice as this.’
Donal shifted weight on his stool. Thought about the familiar cabin. The cosy sleeping loft, the shining delft on the dresser, the hen nesting contentedly in her box. Thought of Roaringwater House and the possessions he had envied. Made a decision. ‘Is some of that money mine too?’ he asked his father.
‘It is, of course, and Maura’s as well.’
Donal stood up. Stood tall. ‘I already have everything I need,’ he stated. ‘Give my money to Tomás so he can keep his home.’
‘Give Tomflynn mine too!’ cried little Maura.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Battle Is Joined
They beached the currach on the shingle below the cave.
‘Thank you for helping me with the mortgage, Muiris,’ said Tom.
His uncle replied, ‘I have had no experience with them myself, but I do know a bit about sharp practice. Are you certain you want to handle things this way?’
‘I am certain. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Mr Fox arrived.’
‘Remember, Tomás, we know two important things about that man. He is a bully and he is greedy. Bullies are always cowards at heart. And greedy men always want more.’
Tom grinned. ‘I’ll remember.’
‘I will be waiting at the top of the cliff. If I see a candle in your window I will know all is well, and I can go home. If I do not see a candle by the time the moon rises, I will come to you and sort things out myself. In my own way.’
There was a sinister edge to his voice. Tom found it comforting. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he assured his uncle.
‘One more thing, Tomás. When your mother married Liam Ó Floinn she became part of his family. Under our ancient laws she is no longer entitled to share the property of our sept. I broke the English law by smuggling. Now I choose to break Irish law,’ Muiris said with a wry smile. ‘As I divide the treasure I will put aside a full portion for Caitríona. It will be buried at the very back of this cave. Should she – or her children, Tomás – ever be in need, you will know what to do. ‘Now go and drive the fox from his den.’
* * *
Tom entered the front door of Roaringwater House carrying a large leather bag. He found his family in the great hall. Herbert Fox was holding court in front of the fireplace, boasting of the way he had built his shipping business out of nothing. Sagging on her chair, Catherine Flynn sat twisting her hands. Her daughters huddled around her. William Flynn stood at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall. His face was
ashen and his eyes were bloodshot.
They looked up when Tom entered. Without even glancing at Fox, the boy walked across the floor and handed the leather bag to his father. ‘Here is what you wanted, sir,’ he said.
Flynn stared blankly at him.
Tom raised his voice. ‘Did you not ask me to fetch this for you?’
‘Eh?’ Flynn hefted the bag. Felt its weight. Heard the clink of metal.
Turning so Fox could not see his face, Tom winked at his father.
William Flynn opened the bag and peered into it. After a sharp intake of breath, he looked back at his son.
Tom silently mouthed a name. Ó Driscoll.
Flynn thought very fast indeed. When he spoke he kept his voice calm. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ he said, as if his son routinely handed him bags full of gold coins. Striding over to the Jacobean chest, Flynn poured out the coins in a gleaming cascade.
Herbert Fox’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did you get all that money?’
‘I have resources,’ Flynn replied without looking up. He was busily counting the coins atop the chest.
‘You had better tell me the truth, Flynn. I can make things bloody hot for you,’ Fox snarled.
Bullies are always cowards at heart. Tom cleared his throat. ‘I come from an ancient and honourable family, Mr Fox. Kings in this land since before the before.’
His mother sat up straight in her chair.
Adding a sinister edge to his voice, Tom went on. ‘Show my father respect or you will answer to relatives of ours whom you have never met before. They are quite close at hand. And they will not treat you gently.’
Herbert Fox cried, ‘I will not be threatened by a mere boy!’ He did not sound so sure of himself, however. He gazed uncertainly around the room, trying to decide what to do next. He started towards Mrs Flynn, but she drew back from him. The three girls swept their skirts aside as if he were dirty. He turned back to Flynn. ‘What’s this about the rest of your family? You never mentioned them before.’
Tom saw his father finish counting. Saw the naked greed on the face of Herbert Fox. Greedy men always want more.
‘If you hope to collect any interest at all on your mortgage, Mr Fox,’ Tom said, ‘you will accept what my father is about to offer.’
‘The total amount due,’ Flynn announced, ‘plus ten shillings.’
‘Only ten shillings interest? That is robbery!’
‘I would not accuse other people of a crime if I were you,’ said Tom.
‘I demand–’
‘You are in no position to demand anything, Herbert,’ Flynn interrupted. ‘You heard my son. Give us any more trouble and I shall summon dangerous men you really do not want to meet.’ He swept the money into the leather bag and handed it to Fox. When the man clutched the neck of the bag his knuckles were white.
Out of the side of his mouth Flynn asked Tom, ‘Are there any dangerous men nearby?’
‘Absolutely,’ the boy assured him.
Mr Flynn called out, ‘Our guest must leave immediately, Simon! Send for his horse and escort him off my property. Sign this deed of acceptance, Mr Fox. That will be the end of our business forever.’
When he was certain that Fox had gone, Tom ran upstairs. He lit a candle and placed it in the window of his bed-chamber. Then he joined his family downstairs for a celebratory supper. Roast mutton and boiled onions and steaming hot plum pudding.
His parents made no effort to conceal their relief. His sisters were almost giddy with it. They asked Tom countless questions. At first he tried to put them off with vague answers, but his mother would not allow it. ‘Secrets in a family can cause too much harm,’ she said. ‘Surely we have learned that much. Tell us the truth, Tom. Tell us all of the truth.’
So he did. Beginning with the day he ran away and fell down the cliff. He only paused to take bites of food – he found himself very hungry. When Tom told about joining the smugglers his father sputtered with anger. Mrs Flynn put her hand over her husband’s. ‘Tom did no worse than you have done, William,’ she said.
‘I was only trying to provide for my wife and children.’
‘And your son was only trying to spread his wings,’ she replied. ‘That is perfectly natural. Go on, Tom. What happened next?’
By the time he finished relating his adventures the hour was very late. Tom was hoarse from so much talking. Caroline could not stifle a yawn. The table was covered with crumbs and only a smear remained of the pudding.
Mrs Flynn suggested they all go to bed.
Mr Flynn followed his son up the stairs. ‘I have one more question to ask you, b … Tom.’
The boy stopped and turned around. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Obviously you approached your mother’s people on your own and did some clever negotiating. I have to say, I am impressed, Tom. And sorry that I underestimated you. Very sorry.’ Apology did not come easily to William Flynn. ‘You could have brought the money to Fox yourself and claimed all the credit,’ he went on. ‘Many men would have done just that. Why did you deliver it to me instead?’
The boy was standing one step above his father, which put their faces on a level. He looked for a long moment into William Flynn’s eyes. Recalled the broken man. Pitied him. And chose to love him.
Tom smiled. ‘Because you are the man of the family, sir,’ he said.
HISTORICAL NOTES
Tom and Donal and their families are fictional, but Richard Boyle and his sons, Thomas Wentworth and King Charles were real people. In November 1640 Thomas Wentworth was impeached by the English Parliament. Accused of high treason, he was beheaded in May 1641.
In 1642 King Charles declared war on the English Parliament, and the English Civil War began. In 1649 King Charles was charged with high treason and beheaded by the victorious Parliamentarians under Oliver Cromwell. Richard Boyle, Earl of Cork, died in 1643. He was never reconciled with his son, Robert.
Sir Fineen Ó Driscoll, his story, and that of the Castle of Gold were real. Smugglers and pirates operated on Roaringwater Bay for many years. Some of the caves they used can still be found around the shores of the bay.
Sir Walter Raleigh was also real, and was a favourite of Queen Elizabeth. He lived for a while in Youghal, County Cork. A privateer and adventurer, he introduced both potatoes and tobacco into England from the New World. His recipe for ‘Sack Posset’ is quoted in a book called Consuming Passions; A History of English Food and Appetites, by Philippa Pullar.
Roaringwater House is modelled on several Munster country houses of the period. Bed-closets like Tom’s were a popular way to keep warm at night. Children of his class were always dressed as miniature adults.
The cabin in which Donal and his family lived is based on cabins that were common in Ireland in the seventeenth century, and right up until the last century.
About the Author
MORGAN LLYWELYN is an internationally renowned writer of best-selling historical fiction and contemporary fiction for adults. Her novels for young readers are: Brian Boru, Strongbow (a Bisto and Reading Association of Ireland award-winner), The Young Rebels, Pirate Queen, and Star Dancer, a contemporary novel about one of her great loves, horses.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
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First published 2012
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–385–0
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