Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
“The vicar goes on and on about heaven, and I don’t know quite what to believe.
Sevrin said it was tittle tattle, and Thomas slapped the back of his head.
I don’t know what lies after this, but hopefully it involves tea, books, and my loved ones.
Is that heaven?” – from the diary of Oren Byrne, age fourteen.
The air was chilly, but the sky was thankfully clear.
I rode between Sevrin and Abnus. The latter had found out about my excursion to meet Miss Quirke and Mrs. Hillridge before we went to the farm at breakfast—Nevan had blabbed about it.
Abnus had instantly invited himself along, and I wasn’t surprised, nor was I upset.
I quite enjoyed him being next to me. Sevrin also hadn’t seemed shocked about Abnus appearing outside the stable, waiting for me.
He merely laughed and whispered in my ear, “Perhaps he wants similar to you, Oren.”
Abnus cared, but more than that, I didn’t know. He’d said we were enjoying each other.
Right now, whether he cared for me or not was unimportant. I had to focus on the matter at hand. The ghost haunting Hillridge Farm and the possible necromancer stalking Sídhetír lands were far more important. Those had to be my focus, not whether Abnus wanted me as much as I desired him.
Sevrin, Nevan, and Neil rode with us toward the small cottage that Mrs. Hillridge and her daughter lived in.
I was trepidatious about meeting with her.
I didn’t know Mrs. Hillridge as more than a passing acquaintance, and now, I was asking for her to confront the place her family had been torn apart.
More than that, I was asking her to see the remnant of her husband.
The air was somber this morning as we trekked over the sloping hills covered in pristine snow. Even Neil and Nevan were oddly silent. Sevrin led us, remaining quiet. The only one who moved or shifted was Abnus. He kept glancing at me, and every time the slight breeze stirred, he would tense.
I wanted to laugh. He was concerned about me, yet again. I wore a thick coat, hat, gloves, and scarf. I was perfectly warm, and in no way in threat of catching a chill, which seemed to be one of Abnus’s main concerns.
A cottage appeared before us, perhaps a mile outside of Elmbury.
Smoke curled pleasantly out of the stone chimney.
Empty flower boxes framed the windows, and bloomless rose bushes grew near the front.
I recognized the cottage as one belonging to Mr. and Mr. Walsh, who owned the flower shop.
It seems they had rented it to her, since Hillridge Farm required rebuilding, something Aidan would no doubt start in the spring.
In front of the cottage was a fine carriage; Mrs. Quirke’s, if I wasn’t mistaken.
I dearly hoped that she wasn’t present today, and it was just Miss Quirke.
I’d tried to soothe Abnus’s jealousy, but I don’t believe I was successful in that regard.
We hardly needed Mrs. Quirke prodding to fuel his ire.
We swung off our horses, and the coachman doffed his hat, which I and my brothers acknowledged. Sevrin led the way, but my steps turned hesitant, growing slower and slower as the door loomed before me. I did not wish to do this.
I was heavily reminded of a moment in my childhood.
One of the stable hands had died in an accident.
I hadn’t been present, thankfully, but I’d seen the boy, who was a handful of years older than me, around the estate many times.
I’d been nine or so at the time. I understood death in an obtuse way.
My only previous experience had been Aidan’s mother.
Father had forced me to accompany him when he informed the family—my duty as the heir.
Aidan had trailed after us because he’d caught me crying in my room, terrified.
When Father had stepped inside, I’d hidden behind Aidan while he stood strong at Father’s side.
Even now, I heard the heart-rending screams as Father told the boy’s parents.
I didn’t think I’d ever stop hearing them.
At the time, I’d quaked and cried, face buried against Aidan.
He hadn’t shuttered or bent in the slightest, even then he’d shielded me.
“Mr. Byrne?” Abnus asked, his face appearing directly in front of me.
I swallowed.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to do this,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to. Your brothers can. I can. You may remain here.”
“No,” I said, straightening my spine. I had to do this. I gave him a slight smile. “I can do this.”
“If you say so, but know you do not have to.” Abnus offered his arm, but I shook my head. I wanted to stand on my own power this time. I didn’t want anyone to shield me from the harsh realities of the world. I was stronger than my family or even I thought. I knew it.
I joined my brothers at the front of the cottage and took a deep breath before rapping on the door. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, then it swung up. Miss Quirke stood on the other end.
She smiled, laying a hand on my arm. “Oren.” She paled, glancing at Abnus. “Pardon me for my informality. Mr. Byrne.”
“Not at all, Miss Quirke. We’re here to speak to Mrs. Hillridge.”
She nodded. “We’ve been expecting you.”
When she waved me in, I stepped inside. The warm air pressed around me, and my shoulders relaxed.
My face burned from the sudden heat, but it was a nice burn, finally stealing the chill that had burrowed under my skin.
The cottage, while modest, was decorated in cozy yellows and browns.
There was a simple sitting area to the left and a kitchen and table to the right.
I spotted a narrow set of stairs on the back wall, which I assumed led to the second floor where the bedroom must be.
Mrs. Hillridge sat at the table, her skin pallid and her eyes ringed in dark circles. Her clothes were wrinkled and her brown hair was messily tied back and partially hidden in a mob cap. I slid my hat off, clutching it between my hands.
“Mrs. Hillridge,” I started.
“I know why you are here, Mr. Byrne. Why all you Mr. Byrnes are here.” She shook her head. “I cannot do what Miss Quirke is asking of me.”
Sevrin stepped forward. “So you did indeed see your husband on your old farm?”
“We both did,” Miss Quirke said, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders.
Before Sevrin could speak, Nevan placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Mrs. Hillridge, my apologies for disturbing you this early. If I may ask, where is your daughter? I don’t think she should overhear anything we’re discussing.”
Mrs. Hillridge replied, hands gripping a steaming teacup. “I sent her over to Mr. Walsh’s house. They’re watching her today.”
“That was excellent thinking.”
Miss Quirke looked at me, eyes widening with a clear plea in their blue depths.
She wanted me to convince Mrs. Hillridge, but how was I to do that?
I didn’t know. I wasn’t gifted like my brothers in the ability to speak.
I shivered, curling in on myself, head ducking.
What could I say, and how could I say it to a woman I barely knew?
I’d never experienced death or tragedy like she had.
What wisdom or words did I have? I didn’t. I was useless.
A cold hand pressed against the small of my back before fisting my jacket and pulling me backward until my back was against Abnus’s front. It wasn’t seemly, but I couldn’t force myself away.
Sevrin moved toward Mrs. Hillridge and crouched in front of her. “We need you to come with us.”
She shook her head, tears building her eyes. “I cannot—I cannot see him again. I cannot hear him crying for help.”
He nodded. “That’s understandable. I wouldn’t want to either. But he needs you. We hope to release him, but I don’t know if he will appear if you’re not there. Please, Mrs. Hillridge. One more time.”
“This is unfair, you realize that, Mr. Byrne. He was killed because your father couldn’t protect us.
Now, John walks because your bastard brother cannot protect us.
” Her eyes flicked toward Abnus and her expression darkened.
“Even now, he allows fae to walk among us, but that’s to be expected as he is a mongrel himself. ”
My hands fisted, and I would’ve stepped forward to defend Aidan, if not for Abnus. He held fast. Whispering in my ear, he said, “Do not pay her mind, a ghrá. She is anger and sadness and grief. Her words are not her heart, but rather her pain.”
I understood that, but I didn’t have to care for her expression when she looked at Abnus, nor the foul word she called my brother. Pain and grief, while untenable, were not excuses in regards to foul actions.
“The fae brought this about, and they should end it,” she said, looking at Abnus. “That is why you’re here, is it not, Lord Abnus?”
“I’m here because Mr. Byrne is,” he replied simply.
“It’s not fair,” Sevrin said, drawing the conversation back to him. “I will grant you that, but it doesn’t change the fact we need you and so does whatever remains of your husband.”
Mrs. Hillridge cast one more angered look at Abnus, who didn’t react as far as I could tell, then she gripped Miss Quirke’s hand. Mrs. Hillridge took a deep breath and nodded. “For John.”