Chapter Thirty-Two
Drawn by the sound and what it might mean, Rynn, Cyril, Mrs. Frampton and Anna, each hurrying from a different part of the
house, converged on the front door. Coming together in the entry hall, they stopped to look at each other with fear in their
faces. Another insistent pounding from whoever was outside made the oak panel shiver and at least three out of the four of
them jump.
“I’ll answer it,” Rynn whispered, ignoring her racing heart. Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, it was her problem to handle.
And if it was about the men in the cellar, as she feared, there was no point in all of them bearing the consequences. “The
rest of you go into the kitchen. If this should be—if anything should go wrong—go out the back door and hide.”
Making shooing motions with her hands—the others didn’t leave; instead, they came together in a single unit to wait anxiously—she
walked to the door and pulled it open.
The tall man in the long black coat and slouch hat with his hand raised to pound again was such a surprise that she took a
step back.
“Owen.” Their eyes locked. The intensity in his made her own widen. There was a grimness about him that sent her pulse leaping
with alarm.
Tim was with him.
“Have you seen Alfie?” Tim burst out before anyone else could say anything.
“Alfie? No.” Surprised, Rynn looked back at Owen.
“He’s missing.” Owen’s voice was harsh. “Three days now. Moira sent for me. She’s beside herself. Tim and I drove from Dublin
this morning, and I brought some men with me to aid in the search. They’re out looking now.”
“He went to school and never came home.” Tim’s voice cracked. Dressed like Owen in a long coat over a suit, he was clearly
distressed. With his bright hair standing on end and his eyes red rimmed, he looked younger even than his age.
“Come in.” Rynn opened the door wider. The men stepped inside.
“Alfie, three of his classmates and their teacher, gone since Tuesday,” Owen said. “As far as anyone knows, vanished into
the mist.”
“Oh, no.” It was an inadequate response, she knew, but something in the way Owen was looking at her made her uneasy.
“Mr. Mulligan is the math teacher. And the hurling coach. He’s a good man,” Tim said. “And Robbie Conley, Jack Haughey and
Ian Lenihan have been friends with Alfie and the rest of us all their lives. They wouldn’t just up and leave, none of them.”
“Could I have a word with you?” Owen’s voice was polite but strained. His hand curled around her arm even as he asked the
question. Without waiting for her reply, he glanced back at Tim. “I’ll be no more than a few minutes.”
“Yes, of course. Mrs. Frampton . . .” Rynn looked toward the housekeeper. Owen was already walking her away.
“I’ll wager you could use something to eat, and a spot of tea while you wait,” Mrs. Frampton said to Tim as she sprang into
action. “Cyril . . .”
“I’ll show you to the library, where you can be comfortable.” Cyril, too, was on the move.
“I’ll come help you.” Anna hurried after Mrs. Frampton.
“Yes, that’s good. Eat a bite. You’ve had nothing since breakfast,” Owen said over his shoulder to his nephew. “I won’t be
long.”
As Tim went with Cyril, and Owen continued to pull her away, Rynn said to Owen, “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere we can talk in private.” His voice grated.
“In here, then.” She took him to the music room.
Closing the door behind them as soon as they entered, he turned to her. His hand was still wrapped around her arm. Tall as
he was, close as he was, he seemed to loom over her. His eyes were keen on her face.
“Tell me the truth now,” he said. “Have you heard anything of Alfie?”
“No, of course not. And of course I would tell you.”
“It strikes me as odd that those boys should disappear so soon after Francis Gerard was rescued by the IRA, and in the same
general area. I’m told that it was a bloody fight, with casualties on both sides. My thought is that Alfie and the others
might have got caught up in it somehow. And they might have needed something in the way of medical care.”
Seeing where he was going with that, Rynn shook her head. “They haven’t come to me. And I don’t think they had anything to
do with Francis Gerard’s rescue. In fact, I’m sure they didn’t.”
His voice took on a steely note. “And how would you be sure of that?”
She sighed inwardly. But under the circumstances, much as she might wish it otherwise, she couldn’t be anything less than
forthright about what she knew.
“Because the men who carried out the rescue did come to me for treatment, and brought Francis Gerard with them. Eleven of them came on the night of the ambush, and seven of them, Francis Gerard among them, left the next night.” Watching his expression darken, Rynn’s voice went crisp as she told him the rest, which she knew he wasn’t going to like.
“The rescue was carried out by the South Donegal Flying Column. Seamus O’Reilly is the commanding officer, and he and Donal and the ones fit enough to walk took Francis Gerard into the hills to a safe house somewhere, with the goal of eventually spiriting him out of the country.
Four of them stayed behind and are still here. ”
Owen swore. “I told O’Reilly when I hauled him and his cousin out of London that if he pulled you into his troubles one more
time, I’d kill him myself, and I’m thinking I will when I have the time. As for you, do you want to end up in front of a firing squad? Too many people know what you’re doing here for it to be in any way safe. But that’s
something you and I can be discussing later. For now, I want to talk to those four men.”
It wasn’t a request, and she had no intention of denying him, anyway. She took him to the cellar.
When they emerged, he was convinced that the South Donegal men had never so much as set eyes on Alfie and the others.
“If they’d got caught up in that ambush, at least then we’d know where to start to search.” Owen looked grimmer than she’d
ever seen him. “How do four kids and their teacher simply disappear? If that boy’s dead, Moira’s heart will break.”
Mrs. Frampton came out of the library as they reached it.
“Would you bring Major Maguire some food, please?” Rynn asked her.
“I’ve no time to waste eating. It’ll be dark soon, and I’ve things to do. But thank you for the offer.” Owen spoke to Rynn
while nodding at Mrs. Frampton as he walked past her into the library.
“Bring him something. A couple of sandwiches, some tea. Some food he can take with him,” Rynn said to Mrs. Frampton, who hurried off.
“Did you learn anything?” Tim asked, putting down his fork as Owen entered. He had quite a spread in front of him, set out
on a small card table. From what Rynn could see, it looked like a leg of lamb and some vegetables and bread, with a bit of
cake for dessert, all of which, except for the cake, showed evidence of having been heartily sampled.
“Nothing of worth. Finish your meal. If you faint from hunger, you’ll only slow things down,” Owen said.
He walked over to the window and stood looking out as Tim did as he was told. Rynn left him to his thoughts, waiting by the
fire until, moments later, Mrs. Frampton appeared with a tray holding wrapped sandwiches, a cup of tea and a bottle of Guinness.
“Cyril thought he might be wanting something a mite stronger than tea,” Mrs. Frampton said to Rynn in a confidential tone
as she handed the tray over, nodding at the bottle.
“Thank you,” Rynn said. As Mrs. Frampton left, Owen turned away from the window.
“I’m ready.” Tim stood up, and Owen nodded and started to walk toward the door.
“Wait now. If Tim hasn’t eaten since breakfast, neither have you.” Rynn was there in front of Owen with the tray.
“I’m not hungry. I’ll get something at the hotel later,” Owen said.
“If you faint from hunger, you’ll only slow things down,” Rynn said.
Owen looked at her, grimaced at having his own words thrown back at him and reached for the tea, draining it in a few quick
gulps. “I’ll eat the sandwiches on the way, and save this for later,” he said, pocketing the bottle. “Thank you for the food.”
“You’re welcome.”
Sandwiches in hand, he headed for the front door with Tim right behind him. Rynn, trailing, called after them as they strode
down the walk toward Owen’s car, “Let me know when you find him.”
She deliberately said “when,” not “if,” because she was afraid if they did not, or if the unthinkable happened, Moira’s would
not be the only heart that broke.
Owen lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and then they slid into the car and were gone.
Night came, and there’d been no word. Riddled with anxiety, wondering where Owen was and what was happening with the search,
Rynn was in the cellar making a last check on her patients before retiring to bed when Cyril came down the cellar stairs.
Hearing his footsteps, Rynn, who was helping a slowly recovering Rory O’Keefe take his first, tentative steps, looked his
way. Cyril immediately stopped where he was—about halfway down the dimly lit stairs—and, giving her a significant look, said,
“Lady Thomas, you’re needed in the kitchen.”
She went on immediate alert. That could mean anything, really, she told herself. But the most likely meaning—they had a visitor—quickened
her pulse. Owen, back with word at last?
“Anna, will you take over for me here, please?” she asked.
Tasked with helping each patient back into his cot after the nightly walk around the interior of the cellar that Rynn had
decreed was necessary for healing, Anna was sitting on a chair she’d pulled up beside Brian Nolan’s cot chatting away to him.
She immediately jumped up and hurried to Rynn’s side.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” Anna assured O’Keefe as she tucked herself under his arm. Anna was small while O’Keefe was tall and large boned, so Rynn watched for a moment as they got underway. But they were managing, so Rynn left them to it and followed Cyril upstairs.
What she saw as she walked into the kitchen was the last thing she expected.