Chapter 21 #3
‘That’s right,’ Oisín said. ‘She was only in her twenties when they were married, and now she’s in her fifties.
They had to move when the church and the vicarage closed down about twenty years ago because of lack of funds and the fact that the congregation consisted of only eight people.
They moved to Wicklow town after that and kept the vicarage as a summer place after they bought it from the Church of Ireland.
Olivia used to hold court in the house and host the Sunday tea parties quite regularly.
They only invited the well-off in the area and behaved as if they were the lord and lady of the manor.
Then Rufus Wilson, the former vicar, died suddenly of a heart attack about ten years ago.
Olivia only spent two months in mourning and then her Sunday tea parties were in full swing again. ’
‘Maybe she was lonely?’ Ciara suggested. ‘Did they have children?’
‘Two daughters,’ Oisín replied. ‘Both married and living nearby. Nice girls who were very supportive of their mother. So she wasn’t short of family who cared.
I don’t think it’s loneliness that drives her to hold these posh little tea parties.
She just fancies herself as the society hostess.
She hasn’t done them for a while but now that spring is here, she’s back, apparently. ’
‘I wonder who’ll be there,’ Ciara said, amused by the tale and the singing. ‘Maybe not the kind of people who’d buy books from an old bookshop.’
‘No idea,’ Oisín said and shrugged. ‘But hey, you should go and shake hands and announce the opening of the bookshop. Don’t know who’ll be there, could be the local glitterati, whoever they are.
I’ve never had the honour anyway. But we O’Tooles were seen as rebels and probably always will be.
Or…’ Oisín hesitated. ‘Could be that the legacy of our great-uncle Jarlath is making us untouchable – or uninvitable, in any case,’ he said with a wink.
‘Your great-uncle?’ Ciara asked. ‘I’ve heard about him. A bit of a rascal, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s for sure. Here’s Róisín with our food and drinks, though, so we’d better dig in.’
‘Here you go, lads,’ Róisín said and started to unload her tray that was crammed with two plates of crab claws with Marie Rose sauce and two glasses of white wine. ‘I’ll get your Guinness in a minute, and the fish and chips will be ready when you’ve finished the crab claws.’
‘Wonderful,’ Ciara said, her mouth watering at the sight of the succulent crab claws. She cracked one open and dipped it in the sauce and then popped it into her mouth, savouring the sweet, salty taste. ‘Lovely,’ she muttered.
‘Yes, they are the best this time of year,’ Oisín agreed, having devoured two of them.
‘So your great-uncle,’ Ciara said when she had had a second crab claw and drunk some of the crisp white wine. ‘What was his name again?’
‘Great Uncle Jarlath,’ Oisín said, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. ‘The infamous uncle, the black sheep in the family.’
‘Liz mentioned him, actually. So he was the black sheep? I suppose most families have them,’ Ciara said.
‘Did you?’ Oisín asked, looking intrigued.
‘My uncle on my mother’s side was a bit of a rascal,’ Ciara replied, wondering how she could get Oisín to reveal all about the rebel uncle. ‘He got into trouble with the law when he stole a bicycle outside the pub one evening. And then he was a devil with the women, I’ve heard.’
Oisín smiled and nodded. ‘Sounds familiar. But I bet my great-uncle was worse than yours.’
‘I bet he wasn’t,’ Ciara said, picking up her glass of wine.
This was working. A great opportunity to find out what she had a feeling could lead to some of the old history of the village.
She also felt that there was something about the story of Jarlath O’Toole that might have to do with Martha and Madge.
She had told a fib about having a black sheep in the family and hoped her uncle would never find out.
Sean O’Brien, her mother’s brother, taught history at Trinity College and was very respectable, not at all the rascal Ciara had depicted.
But if this lie about her uncle could make Oisín reveal some family secrets, it was worth it.
‘I’d say my great-uncle would win that contest,’ Oisín said.
‘Tell me what he did, and we’ll see who was the worst,’ Ciara said, hoping Oisín would take the bait. She knew roughly about Jarlath’s misdemeanours but she wanted to get all the details.
‘He got a local girl pregnant, who had to leave the village. Nobody knew what happened to her after that. And then he broke into a house and stole all the jewellery belonging to an old woman and then he went abroad, leaving his wife to cope with the scandal that ensued. Poor woman. She had to leave the house where she had grown up as she had signed it over to her husband when they were married. Her family didn’t want anything to do with her, so she had to change her name and to go to Dublin and work as a maid.
’ Oisín drew breath and looked triumphantly at Ciara.
‘I’d say that beats any misdemeanours your uncle might have been guilty of. ’
‘Yes, I think your great-uncle won this particular contest.’ Ciara’s hand shook as she picked up her last crab claw. A thought had just hit her and she was trying not to show how it affected her. He got a local girl pregnant, she thought. Was that… could it be – no, that’s not possible. Or…