“I’ve never tried and at a gallop.” She hesitated. “I might not—”
“‘Tis all right,” he said, flashing a reassuring smile and spurring his horse up beside hers. “We’ll let yers go off and split the tracks. Here, climb on.” He held his arm out and she took it, pulling herself up sideways in front of him. “Whoa, stand,” he ordered, jerking back on the bit, forcing the animal to quit lurching forward.
“I’m set,” she assured him.
James smacked her horse on the rump, shooing it off at a run, then wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to his chest. He spurred his horse forward, out of the woods, across another field. Laura’s blonde hair had come loose from its combs and was now streaming back, across his shoulder, her head leaning against the scar on his face, her small hands grasping his arm. He couldn’t push the horse to a full gallop, not with both of them on it, not through the trees, not for long. “Do ye see a house?”
“What?” she shouted, not hearing him over the wind and hooves.
“A farmhouse or barn. Help me find one.”
She nodded.
They rode for another mile without seeing a building of any kind, except an occasional sheep pen. James slowed their pace. He didn’t know the land, and as it was mid-afternoon on an overcast day he was not entirely sure which direction they were traveling. Kildare was to the north, he knew, but were they riding north or northwest, or even west? At least no one was following them, as far as he could tell. They would stop. They needed to rest and figure where they were.
“There!” Laura pointed to the right.
“Aye, so ‘tis,” said James, relieved. Over half a mile away was a small cottage on a smooth green hillside framed by a stand of trees. He turned the horse toward it, spurring the beast hard. Laura leaned back and he held her tighter. Suddenly a flash of anger struck him. It had been foolish to take her to the races, too risky, and he had known it. He had even told Mackercher he didn’t think they should go. But at Mackercher’s insistence, he had given in. What a fool he had been to let her get anywhere near Richard and his damned gunmen. The thought of Laura being in harm’s way was infuriating. A breach of an inviolable promise. But it was not Mackercher’s fault, he reminded himself. It was his own doing. From that he pictured Mackercher standing there in the race house, declaring Richard’s crimes for everyone to hear. I pray he got away. But what of Seán? Seámus? He called me Seámus. Damn. Don’t let him be dead.
Nearing the cottage, he slowed the horse, trotting it around to the front and stopped. As he helped Laura dismount, an old, robust woman came wobbling out in a faded green dress and tattered apron, brandishing a large stick. “Get off dat beast or I bid ye ride on!” she ordered. She advanced toward the horse, walking directly past Laura.
“Ma’am, we mean ye no harm,” James began. “We—”
“Well den,” she said, smiling at the horse, “I’ll spare ye harm in return.”
“We thank ye,” James stammered, smiling cautiously as he got off the horse. The woman had stopped near the horse’s head and was now running her wrinkled hand along its jaw, murmuring something to it. As if they had mysteriously common bonds. As if this were not their first meeting.
Laura started, “Ma’am, I hope—”
“Ah, by Jaysus, the Lord Christ and Mother Mary!” The old woman jumped. “I thought ye on me other side.”
“Sorry.” Laura looked perplexed.
James studied the far tree line, looking for movement, anyone on horseback, but he saw nothing. “Ma’am, if it’d be no burden, I’d like to stable our horse here a bit? We must—”
“What’s de name?” the woman asked, still stroking the horse’s sweaty muzzle.
“My apologies, ma’am. James Annesley at yer service. And this is—”
“A horse named James?”
“Nay, ma’am,” he said slowly, exasperated. “We need to use yer stables, yer pen—”
“So, what’s its name?”
“I don’t know. If we could use your—”
“Ye don’t know de name?”
Laura moved quickly to the woman, gently placing an arm around her. “Its name is Dover, ma’am,” she said, then turned to James and whispered, “She’s blind.”
James nodded with a slight smile at her, then tugged on the reins, prodding it to walk with him. The woman followed, keeping a hand on the horse’s rump, while Laura walked beside James. They went around to the back of the thatched cottage and headed for a horse pen set off in a cluster of trees.
“‘A cryin’ shame, t’ be sure, don’t ye think, lassy,” the woman said over the horse, “t’ see an olden mare lose her precious sight?”
“Ma’am?”
“Yer horse, lassy. Dover. Ye said ‘twas blind.”
“Oh, nay, ma’am, I meant you. I hope I gave no offense.”
“Why should ye have?” the woman snapped back.
“Indeed I shouldn’t have,” said Laura, glaring at James, expecting him to say something.
He silently tied the horse to a water trough, and the woman returned to its muzzle. Then James came to Laura and held her lightly, slipping back into those sullen regions of his mind where Seán never left, never died. There was nothing to be done for that. Except another prayer that it wasn’t so. Nothing for now. They were here, out of sight of the roads and safe. They certainly could not return to the track. After an hour or two, when the sun was further down, they would head for Kildare. But did this blind woman know the way? Though he wished she would invite them inside, he didn’t want to alarm her by asking directly. An idea came to him. “May we trouble ye for some food, ma’am? I’d gladly pay.”
“Plenty o’ hay ‘round de back. Ye get it yerself, Mr. Seámus Annesley.”
James shook his head. He wasn’t of the mind for this nonsense.
Laura elbowed his ribs. “Thank ya, ma’am,” she said. “Ya’re most kind.”
“Ma’am, I’m most concerned for a friend, that he might live, so please forgive me if—”
Suddenly the woman turned and walked directly to James, letting him see her cloudy eyes, white wax orbs. “Do ye think I’m blind, lad?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he said, releasing Laura. “Are ye?”
“Might be. Might be. Some days I am fer sure.” The woman stopped and stared straight ahead, as though she were seeing right through his chest. “Are you blind, Lord Anglesea?”
“Nay, ma’am. Ye know me?”
“Ye sure ye’re not blind?”
“Aye,” James said, growing impatient. “How do you know me?”
“Humph,” she snorted. “But can ye see all dis and everything?”
James glanced at Laura, then back at the woman’s haunting eyes. “I can. I think.”
“Don’t be so sure wise, lad.”
“Ye know of me?”
“Heard yer stories,” she muttered. “And m’ mother, she knew of yer family. She’s served the Buckinghams. Now she be in Kildare. Lived in Dublin. Served your mother some time ago.”
James and Laura exchanged looks, each asking the silent imponderable: If she’s this old, how old must her mother be? James spoke up. “I’d like to meet her.”
“As I said, she’s in Kildare. Talked of ye all de time,” the lady continued. “Said yer uncle is wrong of yer mother. As the facts are the other way.”
“My mother? Aye, she was Mary Sheffield. Not Joan—”
“Ma said the truth was hidden from ye.”
“What truth, ma’am?” James studied the woman. This was tiresome. Another useless witness and blind at that.
“Something she knew. Go to her. She’s in a papal grave.”
“Grave, ma’am?”
“Cemetery beyond Kildare, m’lord. Why do ye bother me with yer questions? Ask her yerself. She’d like yer visit but mind ye take lassy here along.”
Laura spoke up with a soft smile. “I’d be honored to go to h
er.”
James gave Laura a puzzled look. This was dizzying. How could Laura be so kind? Regal. The word came to him. Laura had a regal kindness to her. A well kept, well bred beauty. Tough, to be certain, yet gentle, unthreatened by such confusion. He pressed on, in the only direction he understood. “’Tis no secret of my mother. It will be seen—”
“Ye can see everything, m’lord? Can ye? We’ve heard of ye all round dese parts of Eire.” She felt for his shoulder, and when she found it, she pulled down on it, raising herself to her toes, whispering in his ear, “De question is, m’lord, do ye know of us. Do ye know of me?”
“Should I?”
She stepped back. “Should ye, ye ask?” Her tone now crackly and sharp. “Why should anybody know about anybody, I ask ye? Tell me, sir, if ye can. I heard ‘bout you, didn’t I?”
James frowned. “I must apologize, but I’m adrift here.”
“So be we all. Look under yer feet, m’lord.”
He looked down, and noticed Laura was doing so as well.
“What do ye see?”
“The ground, ma’am.”
“But whose ground?”
“Yers?”
“Nay, m’lord! For shame and swear.” She pointed near his boots. “’Tis yers.”
“Mine?”
“Yers, indeed. Ye’re standing on yer own land.”
“It will then be.”
“Didn’t ye be knowin’ dat?”
“Well, nay. In truth, I didn’t know the estate—”
“Learn t’ see right from wrong, m’lord. I foresee soon I’ll be bringin’ me rents t’ ye. They aren’t much, but I know ye’ll take ‘em. An’ when I do, I want t’know dat ye can see. Dat ye know of me. Dat ye can see dis land o’ Eire, m’lord, whether we be prayin’ t’ de Blessed Mary or no. ‘Tis our land. Our sweat gave it de dark smell. Our backs broke de rocks. An’ our blood made it rich. Learn t’ see de life in it, m’lord. ‘Tis Irish. Until ye do, ye’re more blind dan me. An’ yer lassy’s horse.”
“Aye, ma’am,” James said, then studied her closely, astounded. Annoyed, but astounded.
“Are ye noble yet?” she pressed on.
“Another riddle for me?” James had had quite enough. But Laura didn’t seem particularly perturbed so he hated to show his own shortness. He decided to humor the woman once again. But just this once more.
The woman waggled her finger in his direction, yet slightly off to the right. “My father used t’ say, true nobility, m’lord, is not about de business of bettering yer brothers and fellow men. True nobility is found in being better dan ye used t’ be. Are ye better dan ye used t’ be, m’lord?”
“He is,” interjected Laura. “Mr. Annesley has traveled a lifetime journey that few could bear. I vish ye to know, ma’am, that he is noble in every sense of the vord.”
James’s eyebrows peaked. His cheeks flushed, smiling. He had never heard her gush such.
“Den mind he knows himself as ye know him.” The elderly woman turned to face Laura square. “And lassy,” she said, “yer horse smells o’ Eire. Feels o’ Eire. As if he has Connemara blood in him. Why’d ye give him an English name as Dover?”
Laura shrugged, with a wink toward James. “‘Twas the first name I thought of, ma’am.”
The old woman cackled infectiously. “Well said, lassy!” She reached for Laura’s hand. Finding it, she gripped it tightly, and with her other hand she patted Laura’s head. “Ye’ve got a fine lil’ Swede here, m’lord. Ye should listen t’ her. Pray ye take heed of what she says.”
“Aye, ma’am,” replied James.
The woman turned and began walking toward her cottage. “All right, ye said ye wanted t’ eat. Let’s see what we can find in de kitchen. Some tea. More if ye like. I’ll say a prayer for yer deartháir.”
James and Laura glanced at each other, then quietly followed her inside. “Deartháir?” Laura whispered.
“Brother,” James replied with a shrug.
Chapter 34
The best of men cannot suspend their fate:
The good die early, and the bad die late.
— The Character of the late Annesley, Daniel Defoe, 1715
By four o’clock, James and Laura were riding again. As before, they were together on the one animal. Dinner, safety, guards, news, all were hours ahead. They passed the time thinking of a good Irish name for that Connemara horse—anything to eschew the thought, the mention, of Seán or the events at the track. They settled on Bhaldraithe, the blind woman’s surname, and Laura half-laughed when James spelled it. It had come as no surprise to James when Mrs. Bhaldraithe had proffered the most detailed directions. She had even taken an iron poker and drawn a map on her dirt floor, explaining her cottage was a bit north of Kildangan, a few miles east of Monasterevian, almost to the River Barrow. Thus they “had done been sceedaglin’ de wrong way, all considerin’ their desired destinations.” That made sense, James reasoned, why Bailyn and his men had not found them. No, Bailyn would be well ahead of them by now. So they rode northeast, passing south of Cherryville sometime after five, and by early evening they were within sight of the hamlet of Kildare. James led Bhaldraithe off the road onto the back cattle trails, then stopped on a hilltop overlooking the stone buildings. Bailyn might be at the crossroads with constables or soldiers, ready to arrest him for trespassing or horse thievery, or worse. James urged the horse along until they were past the town, then doubled back.
“We’ll go to the Blue Crow,” James whispered. “Let’s see who’s there.” He pulled on the reins when they reached Main Street, slowing the hooves to a cautious clop. Several people were walking there, a few on horseback. An occasional carriage passed. As they turned on a narrow street lined with shop signs, he spotted the inn. Neither spoke as they approached. James studied the front door, the front windows, the upper balcony. He saw no one. They stopped. He hopped off and helped Laura down.
“Stay here, please,” he began. “Let me see—”
“I know,” she said, her eyes wide, her fear conspicuously hidden.
He leaned forward and took her hand, kissing it. “Stay here. Be prepared to ride off—”
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered firmly. “I’ll be right here.”
He shook his head, sighed through an embracing smile, then turned and walked into the Blue Crow. It was quiet inside. Only a few men were reposed in the tavern room. No guard, attorney or witness for his trial. They didn’t appear to know him, and he didn’t recognize them. He moved toward the back, to the other room on the ground floor, the room Mackercher used as an office. Two men were in there, smoking pipes, drams in hand: a thin, young Highland guard and one of Mackercher’s solicitors. Behind them was Laura’s thick-legged aunt.
“M’lord!” the solicitor exclaimed, standing at the sight of James. A perfunctory bow.
“Gentlemen. Madam Kristin,” James said, stepping forward.
“How is Laura?” the woman asked. Her Swedish accent eased like melted butter.
“She’s all right,” James said, nodding at the door. “A bit shaken. If ye don’t mind, ma’am, will ye go and fetch her? She’s awaiting outside.”
“I was so worried. I’ll go,” she said, slipping out.
The solicitor continued, “Thought you’d been arrested along with Mr. Mackercher.”
“Where are the others?” asked James.
“Left for Dublin, hours ago. Petitioning the court for a release.”
“Good.” James turned to the Highlander. “Ye were there today?”
“Aye, m’lord. I was with ya outside when—”
“Were ye? Ye escaped arrest?”
“Aye, m’lord. Blessings ya did as well.”
“Mr. Mackercher?” asked James. “Was he hurt?”
“Not hurt, best I could see. I was watching from the racing stalls.”
The solicitor rejoined, “I assure you, we’ll have them released come morning.”
James squared the older man. “Where are they?”
“Newbridge, sir. At the garrison.”
“One was shot in the leg,” said James. “Is he with them?”
“Aye, sir.” The Highlander nodded. “Best I could see.”
James turned hearing people enter. Laura came quickly to stand near him. He put a hand on the middle of her back and pulled her close. “Everything is fine enough,” he softly said.
Madam Kristin was beaming. “I’m so very glad ya’re both well.”
“Thank ya.” Laura smiled. “For waiting here, Auntie.”
“Of course my dear,” replied the grey-haired woman. “Shall I have tea brought in?”
James nodded, then returned to the young guard. “Tell me, did ye see Captain Bailyn?”
“Only heard ye speak of him. If I saw him, I wouldn’t know it.”
“He’s short. Skinny face. Red infantry hat.”
The solicitor smirked. “Aye. He came through here an hour ago or so.” Then he said to the Highlander, “He was that ugly one.” He scratched under his wig, then looked at James. “He came in, looked around, and walked out. Said nothing. Has the most dead eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“I didn’t see him,” continued the guard.
James inhaled, then let it go. He saw Laura close her eyes. He sniffed, then looked at the floor. “Probably kicking himself for not shooting me today.”
“But we heard ya shot one of them, m’lord,” the guard said. “A constable at that.”
“What?”
“Ya shot him dead, ya did. Right? With a bussy?”
“Dead?” James felt his gut kicked in. Not Seán! “Who said that?” he snapped.
“A man that’d been wagerin’ there.
“Don’t repeat such,” barked the lawyer. “Mr. Annesley shot no one. He—”
“The man shot,” James stared, “was he my age? My height?”
The guard shrugged, then saw James’s deep frown. “Sorry, m’lord.”
The older man was still glaring on the younger. “We can’t have rumors such as that. If you hear it again, you say it was Captain Bailyn that did the killing. You understand?”
Fortunate Son Page 32
