Chapter 15
In all countries … paupers may be discovered, but an entire nation of paupers is what never was seen until it was shown in Ireland.
To explain the social condition of such a country, it would be only necessary to recount its miseries and its sufferings; the history of the poor is the history of Ireland.
—Gustave de Beaumont, French magistrate, Ireland: Social, Political, and Religious
“Oh look! It’s Mr. O’Dea!” Beth called, and the enthusiastic tremor in her voice pulled me back to the here and now. “Mr. O’Dea! Yoo-hoo!”
I glanced ahead. Cormac stood near the end of the road, his back to us, Beth’s voice obviously lost in the churning wind as he waved to the driver of a cart and mule headed toward the village.
Leaning on a sharp, jagged wall, Cormac wore a short, black stovepipe hat with a fine, dark, swallow-tail coat over tightly fitted knee breeches paired with white stockings and polished shoes.
My brows arched. This was neither the livery I’d first spied him in nor the garb he donned while gardening.
He looked … truth be told, he looked a fine Irish gentleman, pockets weighted with coin earned as a middleman or land agent. The sight felt wrong, somehow.
I shook my head as we neared and cleared my throat. “Mr. O’Dea. Don’t tell me Mama’s stuffed you into a new suit as well?”
He startled and kicked off from the wall before turning—lips parted as he ran a hand over the fastened buttons of the coat before offering a smile. “Her ladyship likes me to dress for business when I’m about her business.”
“Ye look like a dandy,” Beth said with a laugh.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” With a bow, Cormac touched a gloved finger to the brim of his hat and tipped it before pursing his lips. “What brings ye beyond the walls? Is everything all right?”
I shook my head. “Mama took a strange turn, and I need to fetch Dr. Brady.”
Cormac’s brows drew together.
“Mistress Lynch did say Lady Catherine would likely be fine,” Beth piped up. He glanced at her. “She’s having one of her spells.”
“Best to alert Dr. Brady all the same.” My words may have been clipped, but if I was to play the concerned daughter in order to corner Dr. Brady, then I would admonish Beth as Lady Wilhelmina might.
Blushing, Beth nodded and took a step back.
“Ye can go back to the house,” said Cormac. “If it’s one of her spells, ’tis naught a sleeping draught won’t fix. But if ye insist, I can fetch him.”
A jolt ran through my chest.
“Yes, I insist. And I will fetch him myself, Mr. O’Dea,” I snapped. “You said yourself that you’re about Mama’s business. Be about it.”
Sharp. Too sharp. A muscle twitched along the strong line of his jaw as he fell silent.
“Mr. O’Dea. Forgive me, I—” I began, but Cormac cut me off.
“By all means, m’Lady.” Wiping the cut of my words from his face, he smiled, and with a bow, promptly offered his right arm. “It so happens my business has concluded, and as her ladyship’s representative, I’ll be sure to escort ye there, as befitting a woman of yer rank.”
My eyes widened as he shot a wink in my direction.
“I’ll have ye know I was the handsomest man in my parish, so I’ll not embarrass ye o’er much.” He raised his brows above those clear, whiskey-like eyes and nodded at his arm. “Go on. It won’t bite ye.”
My chest tightened as a wave of déjà vu swept over me. Not this place, nor the situation … but his words. Those same words, that same voice. I’d heard them before. I was almost sure of it. I screwed my eyes shut, desperately racking my mind for the circumstance of that memory.
“Breathe,” Cormac murmured. “Are ye worried about her ladyship? Mistress Lynch likely has a handle on it. But I know ye want that reassurance. She’ll be fine.”
Between everything at the house, and my own mind rebelling against recalling what was just beyond reach, it was nigh impossible to simply breathe.
“Yer all right,” Cormac continued. I opened my eyes and found he’d taken a step closer. “Everything will be all right.”
His soft timbre washed through me, wrapping the part of me that wished to ignore everything and carry on as if all was well in a comforting embrace. I took his arm.
“Thank you.”
“Shall we?” Cormac asked.
“Yes, please.”
And without another word, Cormac set the pace, Beth following behind, while the beat of my heart echoed in my ears.
Keeping dip with the unknown ahead.
It was market day, and everyone stared as we walked into the village proper, heads swiveling like hounds on the scent, halting all business and conversation as we swept in.
My cheeks flushed despite the bite of the breeze, and I gripped Cormac’s arm.
“Why do they stare?” I whispered.
“Yer Lady Wilhelmina, and they’ve not laid eyes on ye in a while. That’s all,” he murmured, gently disengaging his arm from my grasp before tipping his hat to the crowd.
I forced a smile to my face, but as I glanced around the village square and found naught but unblinking stares, my knees buckled, and I wobbled in place.
A tall, slim man stepped forward, his clothing a well-worn replica of Cormac’s ensemble, but constructed of patched tweed and darned stockings.
He removed his felt hat and bowed. “’Tis that glad we are to see ye, Lady Norbury.
That our home be graced by yer presence once more.
As the village representative, I’d like to offer our heartfelt condolences for yer loss. ”
Loss. I thought of my brothers and sisters. My mam. My da. My self. Me. Maggie. And my eyes burned with the fresh sting of tears. This man’s words weren’t meant for me, and yet they punched my gut like a runaway carriage.
“Mr. Hogan,” Cormac whispered, close to my ear, jerking me back to the here and now.
“Thank you, Mr. Hogan,” I said, loudly and clearly for all to hear. “It’s … it’s been difficult to bear. But I’m afraid this isn’t a leisurely visit. I fear I’m in need of Dr. Brady.”
And like that, the spell broke. Mr. Hogan turned toward the square. “Call for Dr. Brady!”
And suddenly the villagers came to life.
Cheers of “God bless ye, Lady Norbury” rang over the village, and invitations to take a sup of cordial accompanied insistent requests for me to stay for the céilí they’d planned for that afternoon.
“Well done,” Cormac said with a smile, and I felt my cheeks flush with the praise. “Truth be told, ye bear a fair resemblance to Wilhelmina.”
“Thank you,” I said, loosing a breath to halt a bubble of laughter from creeping up my throat. “I’ll need to do penance for this deception.”
“At least we’re all in the same boat. Come, I’ll escort ye to the good doctor’s abode, though he’ll come running the minute he hears he’s needed.”
Biting my lower lip, I glanced out at the marketplace once more. One thing was certain—these people weren’t starving. On the thinner side, sure. But they were all clothed, with an air of general health I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Where are they all from?” I asked, taking the arm he offered once more. “There’s more here than the village can house, surely? Are they mostly Mama’s tenants, or have they come from afar for market?”
“Nay, they’re all tenants. Some from atween here and Caherbannagh, some live truer to Formoyle.
They’re a bit spread out, and they’ve grown in number of late.
Caherbannagh and Formoyle were devastated with the hunger.
There isn’t a Christ living in either village; they’re either dead where they lay or chanced to cross the Atlantic.
Lady Catherine paid some of the lads in the village to put up a few houses there outside Formoyle for any neighboring tenants who wanted her patronage. ”
“The more I hear about Mama, the more respect I have.” With a sigh, I shook my head. What in the name of God was going on here? An angel to her tenants … with possible murderous intent?
“Respect is fine and grand, but balance it with a good dose of wariness,” said Cormac, pointing off in the distance.
“Dr. Brady’s isn’t far. Right over there.
And if ye don’t mind me sayin’, ye seem like ye might need a respite from whatever is going on in that house.
After ye speak with the doctor, I’m happy to escort him so ye can stay for that céilí.
I’ll return with the carriage later. For the bit of craic, like. ”
For the craic. The fun. The merriment.
A sad smile slowly stretched across my lips. Never, in a single moment in the last two years, did I think I’d ever hear the term or partake again. My face fell.
“With Mama ill, I don’t think that would be very appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” Cormac shrugged. “Maybe not. But for yer own health? Yer sanity? Aye, at least think on it.”
I would. At the very least, taking the air while organizing my thoughts could never be a bad thing.
“Lead on, Mr. O’Dea. I may have to take you up on that offer.”