Chapter 16 #2
“Arra Jesus.” Running a hand over his face, Cormac’s brow furrowed. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“It’s fine. He likely wouldn’t have made it anyway,” I whispered. “God knows I barely did, and I suppose I’m glad, in a way. That I didn’t have to watch him suffer over time.”
“The light of Heaven to him, and to all those we’ve lost.”
“Amen.” With a sigh, I glanced at him. “You mentioned your parents before. Are they in good health?”
He nodded. “Hale and hearty, thanks to the money I send them. Anything to keep them from taking ship, ye know? Me dad was o’er distraught at the thought of being buried in foreign soil.”
“I can only imagine.”
“With luck, the harvest this year will be well, and I can leave this wretched place.”
A chill wound up my legs, and I glanced at him. “You wouldn’t stay? Even earning all that money?”
“Not a hope,” he replied, voice soft. “I’m here to save my parents from emigration, and that’s it. The moment the tide turns, I’m gone. Homeward bound.”
And another wave of déjà vu swept over me—of another time, another céilí, moments before the hope of starting anew shattered into a million glass pieces. The tide turns … something about turning the tide.
Boom.
I startled, hand flying to my throat as Beth squealed on my left. She wasn’t alone. My breath came fast and shallow as the long-promised storm announced its arrival. Thunder rattled the sky above, and dancers stumbled in their sets. I glanced up.
“I’ll fetch the carriage.” Cormac hopped to his feet.
“So soon?” The words were meant for no one, a whispered disappointment, but he heard all the same.
“Next time the weather’s fine, I promise to take ye beyond them walls again,” he said.
My eyes met his, and I knew from the glint of determination in those whiskey-like depths that he meant it.
“I’ll not have ye lose yerself in that house.
Ye can mark my words. Now get yerselves inside the hall lest the skies open, and I’ll be at the ready. ”
The cloud that darkened my thoughts roiled as we rumbled toward home. It had rained heavily while we were within the hall, and the sickly sweet aroma of storm-tossed soil melded with the sharp scent of seaweed—flung from the ocean and crushed against rocks as the surf let its anger out on the land.
Tír na nóg lay somewhere out in the dark abyss—the place the Tuatha Dé Danann, one family of Old Gods, had retreated to thousands of years ago.
Storms were said to be their vengeance on the people who’d settled Ireland and drove them into the sea.
Morrigan darkening the sky, Dagda’s thunderous roar, Lugh’s lightning spear, and the waves—a stampede of white horses, a cavalry charge that would suck any unfortunate soul beneath their seafoam hooves to meet Bilé, God of Death.
“Penny for yer thoughts?” Cormac’s gentle voice was barely audible over the clatter of the carriage.
The spit lad from the kitchen had been commandeered from his duty to drive us, and Beth sat with him on the driver’s bench.
Cormac, as my escort, had to be seen accompanying me in the carriage itself.
I was … tired. Exhausted, actually.
“The storm’s not over,” I said with a sigh, staring out the window at the shoreline. Fog rolled over the shale-covered beach, a sure sign the temperature had risen. The show had only just begun.
“Aye. ’Twas only the first burst earlier,” he said.
I glanced at him. He sat on the cushioned bench opposite, his hat abandoned next to him, cravat loosened. He stared out the window, jaw clenched as he squinted into the distance.
He had a strong profile. A fine nose, with high cheekbones.
And again, that familiar-yet-unfamiliar feeling swept over me.
I shook my head.
“’Tis nights like these I wonder how our friend Edmond Dantès survived his escape from prison,” he noted, turning, a sad smile ghosting his lips. “Are ye enjoying the book?”
It took me a moment to realize he spoke of The Count of Monte Cristo.
“I am, thank you.” With a shudder, I watched the angry waves and wondered the same.
I couldn’t imagine jumping into the ocean from an island prison and swimming miles and miles to shore.
Not in Irish waters, anyway. “I’m sure the sea is warm and calm in France. Or at least, I imagine it is.”
“Maybe one day ye’ll find out.” With a shrug, he glanced at me. “Yer bothered about Lady Catherine’s condition, I think.”
My breath released on a sigh. “I’m afraid we had a disagreement preceding her episode.”
“Ye blame yerself. Don’t. From what I’ve gleaned, these episodes happen every so often.”
“What causes them?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Depends on who ye ask,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe they’re caused by grief. The true Lady Wilhelmina’s death likely hit her hard, ye know?”
I did know. I knew all too well. A mother’s loss lingered from morning to night. “Have you heard rumor that I might not be the first Wilhelmina, Mr. O’Dea?”
He glanced at me, brows arched. “Well, of course yer not. The real Lady Wilhelmina was the first.”
I shook my head. “Yes, I understand all that. But is there any talk that I might not be the first faux Wilhelmina?”
Cocking his head to the side, a bright smile stretched across his face. “Arra. Don’t be listening to all that kitchen gossip. As far as I know, yer the only impersonator.”
“I didn’t hear it from—”
“Whoever ye heard it from, pay it little mind. Get the job done, and get free of this place, Maggie. Like I will. Whatever they say, Lady Catherine will keep her word, no matter the rumors.”
“You surprise me, Mr. O’Dea,” I said, mulling over his words. “On the one hand, you refuse to set foot in the house and are ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Yet, on the other, you insist upon defending her ladyship at every turn.”
The carriage lunged, jerking me toward the edge of the bench. “Oh!”
Cormac sprang forward and grabbed my shoulders to keep me from winding up on the hard floor, as a muffled “Sorry!” wafted from the driver’s seat.
“Ye all right?” Cormac asked, his eyes on mine.
“Fine, thank you.” With a shaky laugh, I shook my head and scooted back, but Cormac moved with me, his hands still warm on my shoulders, his eyes so bright with concern. “The lad needs a few more lessons.”
“Aye. Well.” Realizing he touched me still, Cormac yanked his hands back as if burned, and I loosed a breath. Good. Because New Maggie wanted none of that.
“Why is it you warn me not to listen to rumor when you yourself told me of the woman in white?” I asked. What’s good for the goose was good for the gander, after all. Why should I not listen to rumor when he did the same?
Running a hand through his hair, he turned his attention to the darkness beyond the window once more.
“Because it’s not rumor. I saw her,” he murmured, shaking his head. “And ye’ve seen her yerself, have ye not?”
His question hung in the air between us, and I bit my lower lip. “No?”
“Ye don’t sound sure,” he noted.
“It’s—” I pressed my lips together, mulling over what to say. How much to say. “I haven’t seen a woman, but a man. My … my brother.”
“May he protect ye. ’Tis only a matter of time before she shows herself. Harmless, I’m sure. But I’ve ghosts enough up here.” He tapped his temple before shaking his head. “They’re enough to bear. For ye as well.”
With a sigh, I fiddled with the lace of my left glove. “Who is the woman in white? Do you know?”
“Nay. But if ye want to fuel them rumors of yers, tell in the village says she’s there because of her ladyship. Conjured up, apparently.”
“Conjured?” My blood ran cold as the weight of his words settled across my shoulders. “What are you saying?”
Glancing at me, he shrugged. “Ye know the way people are. Wealthy woman, living alone. A bean draíochta dorcha. But sure, if she were a dark sorceress like they say, she wouldn’t be needin’ ye now, would she?
She’d be able to spell her way out of legal difficulties and such.
Maybe even bring Wilhelmina back from the dead. And others.”
A chill gripped my spine as I grasped for something to say. Anything to change the subject. To transition to something else.
The carriage slowed, and I glanced out the opposite window, the one to my right, facing the Burren, and spied the high walls surrounding Browne House.
We rumbled on, silence falling thick and heavy for the space of what felt like a lifetime before Cormac spoke.
“What was his name? Your son?” he asked, the question so soft, I thought I might’ve imagined it. Until I looked at him and noted the pained furrow of his brow.
“Diarmuid … though he didn’t live to be baptized.
” Saying his name, it did something to my heart, as if a deep crack had been galvanized against further sunder.
It fluttered in my chest as I noted the way Cormac picked at his thumbnail.
The way a muscle in his cheek shivered as his jaw clenched.
And then I thought he might have experienced similar pain. “You … you had a child as well?”
He shook his head. Curt. A sharp slice from one side to the other. “Nay. But many brothers. I was reminded of them is all.”
“What were their names?” I asked, my voice a whisper as the carriage rumbled to a stop before the entrance of Browne House.
For a moment, I thought he’d keep them to himself. As I had kept Diarmuid’s name locked away for long, as I likely should’ve continued to keep it.
“Cormac,” he breathed instead, scooting to the carriage door that faced the house. “There were five Cormacs before I came along. Not a single one lived long enough to be christened, save me. I fear sometimes I’m naught but a spirit myself.”
The practice was not at all unusual, naming a live child for the one who came before, hoping the deceased would watch over and protect the new babe.
“I’m here because of that, Maggie. And I stay because of that. I’m the only child left to care for my parents, and I’ll not let them board a coffin ship. Ye have yer own reasons. But at any time, if ye need to leave, ye tell me, and I’ll get ye free of this place. I promise ye that.”
Not another word passed between us as the spit lad opened the door. As Cormac hopped down. As he offered his hand to assist my descent. And as he flipped his mood entirely, turning to Beth with a grin.
“Made it back without getting soaked?” he asked, eyeing her cloak and hood.
“Only a soft mist,” Beth chirped, her palm upturned to the darkening sky. “We were right lucky—”
Boom!
Thunder growled through the air, and the horse team whinnied and stamped their disapproval.
“Woah, woah,” Cormac soothed, striding toward the lead pair of horses. “I should get them safe inside before the rain starts again.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, glancing up at the sky. Lightning lit up the bands of cloud in great bursts as branches of light streaked across the sky.
Boom!
“Go on, inside with ye,” Cormac urged, waving us toward the house as he pulled on the horses’ harness.
Boom!
The wind picked up, ruffling the wisped curls beneath my bonnet.
No. Picked up was wrong. It rushed past, like a wave on the shore, pulling the fog with it.
I followed its path, watching as the fog swirled up the outer wall of the house.
Up, up, up to the top floor. My heart thudded in my chest as the night lit up once more, and I tracked a streak of lightning tearing across the sky above the dark megalith of gray brick and dense ivy, bathed now in a blanket of thick haze.
It was bright. So bright.
And that’s when I saw him. Michael.
Staring out the window.
The attic window. The same attic none but Lady Catherine had access to.
But … I squinted. He wasn’t staring. His face twisted with pain and fear, and I watched as he slammed ghostly fists against the glass, as if screaming.
Screaming a scream only I could hear, as another figure stepped into view. Another spirit, this one a woman … in white.
Ye must remember, Maggie!
Over and over, Michael’s words reverberated through my ears, and I watched in horror as the woman in white closed a hand around his throat, ’til his voice grew hoarse and his words turned to gasps.
My mam always said I didn’t know how to leave well enough alone.
That curiosity killed the cat. But this cat had a few lives left yet.
“Beth?” I called, tearing my gaze from the attic window.
“M’Lady?” she asked, gathering her skirt to avoid the puddles.
“I think I’ll need the burner, along with Mama’s soothing herbs, tonight.”
“After all the fuss this morning—” Beth began, but I scowled fit to frighten a bishop. “A-aye, m’Lady. I’ll run and fetch everything.”
As she hopped ahead to run the errand, I glanced once more toward the attic window, to find it now bare.
Aye. If Michael needed me to remember, then I’d do my best to appease his soul, no matter the pain the memories brought.
But tonight, I’d be ready and waiting, safe in my bed. For the only way to draw them out was kicking and screaming, pulled forth by the haze of that godforsaken incense.