Chapter Ten #2
Eileen’s eyes widened at how pristine the walls and the huge oak table in the middle of the room appeared. “I would have expected a building as old as this one to have much darker walls.”
Finn’s wife bit her bottom lip, then admitted, “There was a tiny fire that got a bit out of control.”
That was when Eileen remembered what had happened. “It was ingenious of you to set the contents of that cooking pot on fire. I’ve heard the distraction enabled you to escape and find where Finn was being held.”
Mollie sighed. “I saved his life more than once.” Their eyes met and held, understanding flowing between them. “You have done the same for Flaherty.”
Eileen’s shoulders sagged as the weight of Flaherty’s passing fell upon them.
“I wasn’t able to save it more than once, and was nowhere near where he was shot a second time.
The bloody coward who killed him will be brought to justice!
” She placed her hand to her neck, thinking of the smugglers who had been captured and sentenced by the Admiralty Court.
She’d had a hand in her father’s smuggling, by choice, after her mother passed away.
If she were caught, she had no doubt she too would face the hangman’s noose outside of the Prospect of Whitby tavern.
The slender, warm arm that wrapped around Eileen’s shoulders broke through her troubling thoughts, as Mollie gently reminded her, “We need to start setting out the food. Would you mind helping me?”
Eileen shoved thoughts of death and dying from her mind in order to see that the man who wanted to protect her would have a wake worthy of him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’d be happy to help.”
Between Mrs. Castleton, two maids, Mollie, and Eileen, the large quantity of food was arranged on one of the large tables along one wall.
Extra plates and utensils were at one end of the table, encouraging mourners to start at that end and work their way through the food Mollie and Mrs. Castleton had prepared, along with the generous dishes the villagers had dropped off earlier in the day.
Some food would be served cold, as there were too many dishes to warm up and serve hot.
As Eileen and Mollie visually took inventory, Mollie remarked, “Though I would like to reheat all of the dishes, the generosity of the villagers makes that impossible.”
“I wouldn’t worry overmuch,” Eileen said. “Many’s the night when my da would come home well after the evening meal was prepared and waiting for him. He was just as pleased to eat it cold as he would hot out of the oven.”
“During the first few months we were married, Finn arrived after I’d reheated his meal,” Mollie said. “He finally convinced me that some things are best eaten warm or cold, rather than reheated a few times.”
The two women shared a smile. Arms linked, they recruited two of the stable lads to carry the pitchers of ale, mulled cider, and water on their return to the kitchen.
As soon as the two young men left, Mrs. Castleton urged Mollie and Eileen, “Please sit and have a bite to eat while I pour your tea. The two of you will need your strength if you plan to last more than an hour or two at Flaherty’s wake. ”
Eileen was worried about O’Malley’s wife. She was still nursing her babe and already expended a great deal of energy organizing and carrying foodstuffs to the hall. “Why don’t you put your feet up, Mollie? I got a full night’s sleep last night. Did you?”
Mollie laughed softly. “With Boadicea teething? Nay. I suppose I could put my feet up while I feed my daughter.”
Mrs. Castleton poured their tea, set the teapot down, and put her hands on her hips. “You’ll do more than that, or I will be forced to speak to O’Malley about the dark circles beneath your eyes and—”
“Never mind,” Mollie murmured. “I’ll put my feet up.”
Eileen smiled into her teacup. It seemed Mrs. Castleton knew just what to say to encourage Mollie to rest. She was pleased Finn’s wife had someone older looking out for her.
Eileen had watched those of her friends who had babes of their own struggle to take care of them while keeping their husbands fed and their cottages clean. “You’re lucky to have Mrs. Castleton.”
Mollie’s gaze slid from Eileen to the duke’s housekeeper. “I am grateful to have Mrs. Castleton looking out for Finn, our babe, and me.”
The older servant beamed. “It is my pleasure. Shall I go and fetch your darling babe?”
Eileen set her cup on its saucer. “Why don’t you go to your babe and rest for an hour or so? If Finn is anything like my father used to be when I was small, he will no doubt chase you out of the great hall as soon as you enter it and demand that you rest, anyway.”
“Eileen’s right. Between her, the other maids, and myself, we can take care of whatever those gathering will need.”
Mollie rose to her feet, swayed, and immediately sat back down. Mrs. Castleton asked one of the maids to fetch O’Malley, and the young woman rushed off to do so. Within minutes, he strode into the kitchen, scooped his wife out of her chair, and asked, “Mollie-lass, are ye in pain?”
Eileen watched Mollie’s expression change from exhaustion to relief. “I’m just a little tired. Nothing to worry about.”
“I should not have asked ye to take on the task of arranging things today.” He nodded to Eileen and the duke’s housekeeper. “Thank ye for sending for me. Mollie believes herself invincible and refuses to accept that until she weans our daughter, she’ll continue to tire more easily.”
“Flaherty was like a brother to me, Finn. I need to see that everything is perfect,” Mollie protested.
The words hit Eileen like a blow to her chest. Watching O’Malley leave with his wife, she knew that what the couple shared was not something she would ever experience.
She had had a very short time with Flaherty, where she learned that his careless words had not been planned.
He did admire her, would protect her, and had pledged the rest of his life to her.
With the desire swirling in the depths of his gaze, she’d had no doubt that their feelings for one another would grow as their love deepened.
Now she would be a spinster, living with her father, taking care of him as she had since her mother died.
It wasn’t as full a life as she’d hoped, but it was a good life, one she would not regret.
The Lord had given her a glimpse of paradise, and it would have to be enough to dream on.
“Now then. Let us check the great hall to see what, if anything, we have forgotten to include,” the housekeeper announced.
“You do not think they’ll have carried Flaherty inside yet, do you?” Worry creased Eileen’s brow. “I’m not certain I’m ready to see him propped up in the corner in a wooden box.”
“I did hear that they decided against propping it in the corner,” Mrs. Castleton said.
“They will be laying it out flat. As I’m not certain when that will happen, the best advice I can give you is to concentrate on the food table, and not the opposite side of the room.
I’ll walk on your left to block your view. ”
With a hand tight against her aching stomach, Eileen said, “Thank you, Mrs. Castleton. I’m not normally squeamish, but you see, Flaherty—”
How did she explain her convoluted feelings for the man?
At first she was incensed at the rumors that abounded after a conversation was overheard.
Then, despite her hurt feelings twined with indignation, the first tug of attraction had settled in her belly, irritating her to no end.
Shortly afterward, it was the night of the storm and the powerful urge to pull the man she saw floundering in the surf to shore.
It wasn’t until she was nearly upon the man that she’d realized it was none other than Fenton Flaherty—her tormentor.
As she tended to his injuries while waiting for the physician, she’d undergone a change of heart, a shift in her feelings for the man.
Anger softened, indignation faded, and she felt the overwhelming need to take care of the man.
And then he’d charmed her. If that wasn’t enough to make her head spin, he’d tempted her to accept his offer of protection in the form of marriage.
He’d seen her bedraggled, soaked to the skin.
It was the latter that would have tongues wagging once the news spread.
She had thought she could control the situation by ignoring her father’s assurance they would wed, to search her heart and mind, wondering if she could marry the man.
Guilt swamped her, adding to the throbbing at the base of her skull.
She could not let go of the question that plagued her: Would Flaherty be lying in a coffin in the great hall of Penwith Tower if she had not hesitated, but had accepted Da’s decision as soon as he said it?
Eileen took a moment to ask forgiveness for doubting the Lord’s plan for her, even if it broke her heart. She added a quick prayer that He would watch over Flaherty’s soul on its journey to Heaven, and, if possible, have her mum be there to welcome him.
Mrs. Castleton led her into the great hall and, as promised, blocked her view of the coffin that was in the corner on the opposite wall.
At some point she would need to walk over to where he lay, say a prayer for Flaherty…
and bid him goodbye. Not yet, though. Her heart wasn’t ready, but it would be by the time the last crumb of food was eaten, the final toast given, pitchers emptied, and the last of the mourners left to return to their homes in the village.
Digging deep to regain the composure that was certainly slipping, Eileen turned her attention to the huge room.
The stone walls had been scrubbed while the curtain wall was being repaired.
Two tapestries hung on either side of the massive fireplace, bearing the Lippincott coat of arms—one ancient, one new.
The ravages of time were starkly evident when one noticed the brighter-colored threads worked into the newer tapestry.
Eileen remembered her father telling her stories of the pride the people of St. Ives had had while the fourth duke protected them, provided for them.
But that all had changed upon the duke’s death.
Under the yoke of his eldest son, the fifth duke, tenant farms were neglected.
By necessity, fields were left fallow. And that was when more of the men turned to smuggling to help feed their families.
Things had started changing for the better when the sixth duke inherited the title from his elder brother.
Though the people were still struggling, farms were no longer neglected.
Rooves were thatched, fields plowed, and the people slowly realized that the new duke was a man of honor and integrity—and kept his word.
Her thoughts circled back to the man she had yet to approach.
She had to settle her stomach, regain her composure, and pray that no one noticed how deep her distress was.
Before she broke down weeping, she would say her final goodbye to the man she loved.
She had not loved him long, but now loved him so deeply that she worried she could not say goodbye…
that it would cut her off at the knees to do so.
“Why don’t you take the table on the left?” Mrs. Castleton said. “Check to see that pitchers are full, and we haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Of course.” Eileen did as the housekeeper bade her, surveying the table.
Making minor adjustments, she said, “I think another pitcher or two of ale are in order.” Brushing her hands on her skirts, she dared a glance over her shoulder.
Unable to stop herself, she stared at the coffin, and noticed the linen wrapped around Flaherty’s head.
Her head spun as her mind added images to Tremayne’s explanation of Flaherty’s injuries.
She lifted her chin and shoved those gruesome images to the back of her mind, digging deep to gather the wherewithal to get through the wake.
She and Flaherty may have gotten off to a bad start when his arrogance and charm rubbed up against years of her being invisible to the young men in the village.
Her independent nature had warred with her need to be noticed.
She’d fallen back on familiar tactics, ignored the man, and smiled at the first other man she saw.
Unfortunately, it had been Selkirk, one of Judson’s crew of wreckers.
And for some reason that had bothered Flaherty, and he made it his mission to speak about Eileen to any and all who would listen.
Apparently, as she’d recently learned, he had not meant to disparage her, but constantly speaking about her had the locals believing he and Eileen had had more than the adversarial relationship they displayed whenever he came into the Mermaid’s Glass.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the direction of her thoughts, and the futility of trying to reason out the unreasonable, she retreated to the kitchen to regroup…
not to surrender. Da would arrive soon and would come and fetch her.
She needed his strength, and support, if she were to bid the brave warrior goodbye without embarrassing herself by falling apart.