The mistress’s smile seemed sad. Shannon longed to comfort the kindhearted woman but, in spite of the kindnesses shown, she knew this was not her place.
“You can pray for James and for all of us. Antoine may be overreacting, but then, maybe he is not. He is a good one for planning.” Mistress Crockett sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the area next to her. “Quick, I’ll tell you a short story from when I first met Antoine.” Now the smile was brighter as Shannon took the seat indicated. “I first met him at Versailles. That evening, I also met Voltaire—it’s true. He was a kind, gentle man. My first night at the palace, we were seated next to one another at dinner. Little did I know he was in league with Antoine to learn more about me. I spoke of how I loved to ride horses, being outside, sketching… The next morning, Antoine took me for a lovely ride to a glade where he had arranged a wonderful picnic. After we ate, he produced sketching materials and let me draw to my heart’s content. He was so thoughtful. But what had seemed like spontaneous coincidences came from careful listening and planning.
“He is still like that today. I’m sure he’s planned for this moment but hoped to never put his plans into action.” The mistress took Shannon’s hand between her own. “So now, I cover his plans with prayer, asking that God will direct his thoughts and that He will give him wisdom and the flexibility to adjust according to God’s plans. Antoine will quickly get James released, I have no doubt, but please keep praying until they are all home.”
Shannon nodded, and the mistress let go of her hand, patting it before standing. “Thank you, dear girl. I am so glad you are here with us.” She bent and placed a gentle kiss on Shannon’s cheek before leaving the room.
Shannon’s fingertips traced the planted kiss and wondered again at this family.
* * *
“And you will swear in court that you saw Kevin O’Rourke kill Christopher Dougherty?”
All eyes in the room focused on Alain-Robert de Grillet. An eternity passed before James, who had been brought up from his cell to hear the proceedings, observed a slight nod and a mouthed, “Aye.”
“A little louder, for the record.” Master Aaron Murphy, Thomas Stewart’s secretary, obviously wanted everything done by the book. With no formal court available, Stewart’s decision would serve. But, since the Stewarts and Crocketts were well-known friends, propriety held this needed to be carefully documented.
“Aye.” This time with enough volume for all to hear.
“Do you need anything else?” His father was as anxious to wrap this up as he was.
“I’m thinkin’ that should be enough. I’ll swear out a warrant for Kevin O’Rourke and bring him in.”
“What about protection for our families?” James had worried over this for hours.
Murphy turned his back to sign the release papers, and Thomas explained. “Your father and I have figured this all out. In fact, Crockett, de Grillet, you both are still welcome to bring your families—”
“No, we have made our plans. We will stay at Edenmore.” There’d be no changing his father’s mind. “If that is all, we’ll be going.” Father nodded toward the door, leading the way where he held the door for James.
Stepping out he breathed deep. Fresh air had never smelled so good. Thomas Stewart followed them, climbed aboard his horse and waved as he left.
The four men walked in silence for several minutes—the older friends together up ahead, the young men together behind.
James inhaled another deep breath of freedom. “I don’t think I thanked you back there.”
Alain-Robert gave him a sideways glance with a slow half smile. “No need. I should have said something right away.” He softly coughed before looking James full in the face. “I am sorry.” And then he turned his head back to the road again.
Realization slapped James full force. Alain-Robert could have kept him from spending a horrible night in that miserable cell. The little coward had only to speak up. With every step his anger rose. Why didn’t he tell what he knew before this?
James well remembered the damp cold, the moldy smell, the constant sound of dripping. Drip, drip, drop. Each step home resonated with imagined water droplets plopping on the road instead of his footfalls. Before long, he wanted to take a swing at the mouse walking so nonchalantly next to him.
At least he could shout out in rage. Yet he bit his tongue and placed one foot in front of the other. Drip, drip, drop. He wouldn’t take bets on how long his control would last.
* * *
“Bridget, you’ve got to help me.” Sarah lay on her bed, where someone had placed her, a damp rag clenched in her hand. Her father’s admission still rang in her ears. She had to get to Joseph. She had to tell him she loved him.
“Miss Sarah, ye need to lie still, lass. Yer father an’ mother are worried sick over ye.” Bridget took the damp rag from Sarah, rewet it and tried to put it back on Sarah’s forehead.
“Oh, Bridget. Please. I’ll give you whatever you want. Name it.” Sarah pushed her way off her bed and opened her armoire. “Would you like any of my dresses? You choose. It is yours.” Leaving the closet door open, she ran to her dressing table. “Jewelry? Would you like jewelry?” Sarah rummaged through a drawer. “I think I have some money in here. You can have it. You can have it all. Just please, please help me.”
“Miss Sarah. I dinnae fash yer clothes nor yer jewels nor yer money. I’m just doin’ me job.”
Sarah rushed to the girl and grabbed her hands. “Your job is to help me, correct? Please, Bridget, I’ll do anything. I implore you by all that’s holy…” Sarah sank on the bed in a sob.
What if something happened to Joseph? Or Wee Joseph because she wasn’t there to protect him? She’d broken her promise and heaven removed its blessing.
Bridget placed her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
Sarah raised her head to meet the girl’s gaze.
“What would ye have me to do, Miss Sarah?”
* * *
“What if I put you girls in the nursery, the O’Tooles in your room, and Albert and Mimi in James and Robert’s room? Your brothers can sleep on the floor downstairs, and Alain-Robert can join them. I doubt if the men will be doing a lot of sleeping, or they will at least be sleeping in shifts.” Although she appeared to be explaining things to her daughters, in reality, Louise was thinking things through out loud. A habit she’d developed that appeared in times of stress.
“I want to keep the study clear, so the men have a place to talk in private. And, our bedroom can be used for those needing rest during the day after an all-night vigil. Meals can be served in the parlor when wanted. And, the dining room can be used for giving aid to those in need. Does that sound like it will work?"
“Yes, Mama. We can start moving our things now.” Lucy immediately jumped up. Sarah Beth followed her sister, but Mary Francis held back. Shy and sensitive, Louise pulled her middle daughter close and gave her a hug.
“Are you sure James is all right?” Mary Frances’s face turned up, her eyes wide with fear for her big brother.
“Ouí, dear heart, I am sure. Your father will be bringing him home anytime now.”
Mary Frances returned her hug before racing up the stairs to help her sisters. For years Louise had only mothered sons—four strong, handsome sons who had grown into four strong handsome men. But then the Lord blessed her with three lovely daughters, just now beginning to bloom. As much as she wanted to alleviate their fears, she also wanted to wrap them in a strong hedge of protection. Ouí, your father and I will protect you.
She found Josephine making an inventory of the larder. Seeing the old woman busy gave Louise strength. They had named Joseph for her. She joined her friend, nay second mother. Together, they made plans for feeding such a large group.
“We have plenty of mutton stored, so meat will not be a problem.” Josephine spoke in her native French.
“Bon, but are there enough vegetables in reserve? How does the garden look? If this situation lasts for a
ny real length of time, we may—”
The sudden knock made Louise jump. “I’ll be right back.” She left to answer the door. It was starting.
Michael O’Toole and son, Liam, stood on her steps looking like refugees. How old was the boy now, twelve, thirteen? Mary O’Toole stayed in the carriage, her face pinched and unhappy.
“Come in, come in. Mistress O’Toole, you don’t have to sit out there. Come in, everyone.” Louise smiled to ease the tension.
“We can take your things upstairs and get you settled.” She continued explaining all the way up the steps. “I hope you do not mind. I’ve put you all in my daughters’ room. They are in the nursery with the Widow.” She opened the bedroom door for them. “Your son is welcome to be here with you or with my sons downstairs. I’ll leave it to you. I am just very glad to have all of you here.” More smiles. “If you would like to rest, I can call you for dinner. Master O’Toole, I am sure you will want to talk with my husband when he returns. I will let you know when he arrives—or more likely you will hear the noise of James coming home.” Her laugh was a tad strained, she knew, but no one mentioned it.
Louise left them and returned to help Josephine, who really did not need her help. But before they had even started again, she heard the front door open and Mary Frances’s voice. “James. You’re home.”
And there he stood.
Yet her heart knew as much uncertainty as it did relief.
* * *
“James is home.” His sisters all spoke at once, scurrying for the stairs. Shannon found her feet had a mind of their own carrying her right along with the happy greeters. She caught sight of a dark scowl that melted away as he swung Mary Frances in the air and planted a kiss atop her head.
Then he glanced up, and their gazes met. A shock ran through her system. Shannon had never felt so shy in her life, nor had she ever seen his smile so broad. He managed to get close enough for her to choke out, “I’m glad yer home.”
His hand brushed hers for the briefest of eternities, and he replied, “Me too.”
Then his family whisked him away into another room.
She was left behind. She returned to the nursery, her domain, her sense of security. It may be located in the Crocketts’ home, but she had some control of her life, and Samuel’s, inside this room.
“Miss Sarah. Ye startled me. I’d a thought ye’d be downstairs amongst the happy throng.” Like some newly arrived phantom Sarah rocked Wee Joseph. Where had she come from? Had she used the back stairs?
“Someone needed to stay with the bairns.” The terse reply seemed foreign coming from the lass.
“Pardon, miss, is there a problem?”
“Perhaps you think it satisfactory to leave two defenseless babies alone where they can get hurt, but I certainly don’t.”
Shannon staggered back at the verbal blow.
“Miss Sarah, yer welcome to take this position anytime ye want it.”
* * *
Sarah knew she had gone too far but didn’t know how to make things right. She wasn’t angry at Shannon, merely worried and scared and desperate to find Joseph. Yet anger seeped out of her words like acid, no matter what she said. The acid burned the wrong people, though. How did she keep Shannon from leaving?
All the same, the young widow packed her bag.
“Where will you go?”
“I’ve still got me cottage. It were Sean’s parents’ home, and now it will be mine and Samuel’s.”
A new fear settled in Sarah’s heart. Wee Joseph needed Shannon. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t give him everything he needed. And Joseph would be angry. Tanté Louise would be too. She’d let her rage get the better of her again, and now look at the mess.
“Widow O’Connor… Shannon, please. What about Wee Joseph? He needs you.”
Shannon stopped packing and remained still with her back to Sarah. Hope filled her heart. Maybe she wouldn’t leave.
“Ye can do it. I’ve known babes younger to be weaned to the cup. It won’t be easy at first, but ye can do it, Miss Sarah.” She resumed her packing.
This morning all she wanted was to run away. Now it seemed as if God would make her keep her promise one way or another.
* * *
Shannon scooped up Samuel in her right arm and then tried to grab her two bags with her left. They were heavier than she expected. She put Samuel back down. “Ye’ll have to hang onto Mama’s skirt, love.” Her voice sounded unnatural. Pride had gained an upper hand. But it was too late to back down now. Besides, this appeared to become a dangerous place to be in the next few days. The Combers had never bothered the Catholics in the past, so she and Samuel might be safer in their own home.
But there were still the stairs to negotiate. How could she do that with her two bags and Samuel hanging to her skirt?
“I’ll need to leave Samuel here long enough to take me bags down the stairs. Will ye watch him?” It took every ounce of strength she possessed to ask for help from Miss Sarah. A part of her knew if she just waited and talked with the girl, things would be back to normal. But that would call for swallowing more pride than she could stomach.
Sarah nodded but didn’t speak. Shannon nodded back her thanks, hefted the two bags, and headed for the front door.
Placing them out of the way of incoming traffic, she hurried back to the nursery, tucked Samuel on her hip and took the stairs again. She sat him down, admonished him to hold tight to her skirt, grabbed the bags and was out the door.
Just getting out of her carriage, Mistress de Grillet gave Shannon a wondering gaze. Now there’d be questions.
“Widow O’Connor, what is the problem?”
She hadn’t expected anything so direct, or so fast.
Mistress de Grillet hurried over to her. “Is there a problem? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to me home.” Yet as she spoke the words, she realized it was no longer home.
“Oh, ma petite, it is very dangerous. It won’t be long until sunset. Then you must be here inside. This is where we can help one another.”
Master de Grillet unloaded the bags and took the carriage to the barn. But Alain-Robert stood with his mother, a silent support against Shannon.
“No, I need to go. Tis important, I canna wait.” Shannon tasted resentment reminiscent of a thwarted child.
“But you can’t take the baby. Leave him with me.” Mimi scooped up Samuel. “I will watch him, and Alain-Robert can accompany you to take care of your business and bring you safely back.” Shannon had little choice. Her son now a hostage assuring her return. And a willing hostage at that as he laughed and wrapped his arms about the woman’s neck. “I’ll keep him safe for you, Widow O’Connor. Just hurry back after you finish your business.”
Tis here my business is finished or will be as soon as ye give back me baby. That is what she wanted to shout but thought better of it. Instead she tried a softer approach. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. It might be best to keep Samuel with me.”
But Madame de Grillet was no longer listening. Instead she played with the little traitor in her arms as she walked through the very door Shannon left open.
“Widow O’Connor, allow me to put my parents’ bags inside, and I will go with you.” Alain-Robert didn’t wait for an answer but grabbed up the luggage his father had left and followed his mother through the door.
Shannon stared back at her own bags. Now what?
Chapter Fifteen
Something wasn’t right, and Cullen O’Keefe knew it. Business had never been this slow. Even the de Grillet lad didn’t show. Was it even worth staying open?
“Michael laddie, looks like there won’t be much to do today. Go see what yer friends are doin’. Tis time ye had some fun.”
The rail-thin youth dropped the rag he used to wipe shelves badly in need of dusting, his freckled face breaking into a toothy grin. “Aye, Uncle.” Out the door in a flash, he quickly popped his head back in. “Thank ye, Uncle.” And then he was gone.<
br />
Cullen chuckled under his breath. His sister’s boy had been a joy to him. He and his missus never had any children of their own. Michael filled that void as good and kind as any loving son. Cullen picked up the rag the lad dropped in his rush and took over the boring job. Hot and perspiring, he longed to join his nephew, but for now, daydreams must suffice.
Behind him the door creaked open. He called over his shoulder, “What’ll it be?”
“Information.”
“Wha—?” Cullen spun around.
“O’Keefe, I’m thinkin’ ye’ve got a big mouth. Now, who’ve ye been runnin’ it off to?” Kevin O’Rourke and Seamus Flaherty leaned on the makeshift bar, reminding him of jackals toying with their prey.
Sweat poured down Cullen’s head. “I, I dinnae know what ye mean.” He wiped his face with the dirty rag, but the sweat only continued, pooling at his neck.
“Maybe we need to be helpin’ him remember, aye, Kev?” Seamus’s eyes gleamed.
O’Rourke nodded and Flaherty landed a rock-hard punch in Cullen’s middle. All breath escaped. He doubled over. Cullen’s lungs screamed for air, but he’d lost the ability to take it in. Gasping, he stared at the men’s sinister grins. Their laughter rang with foreboding.
“D’ye think he remembers now, Seamus?”
“I’m not sure, Kevin.” Flaherty grabbed at the wisps of fine hair on the back of Cullen’s head and yanked hard, viciously pulling Cullen’s face directly under his.
Cullen’s knees buckled. His hands reached to free himself, to clutch something as a weapon.
O’Rourke grabbed his arms, twisting his left one behind him. “Who’d ye talk to, and what’d ye say?”
“Master Crockett just wanted to know if I saw anything. I told ’m I didn’t.” Cullen didn’t recognize his own voice, or rather rasp. He’d barely again started breathing.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 40
