VIII
Mrs.
Keenan’s Passing
Emily emerged into the bright, cool day with a bit of a headache. Damn
the hangovers and on with life. She needed to think about food and drink, and
she wanted to look about her. It was edging on darkness when they had landed
the night before, and the walk from the strand to the dun had her wondering how
big this island could be, or even how high. It seemed as if they climbed small
mountains the night before.
And it certainly proved to be as beautiful as the rest of Ireland. Very
green. The old stone, moss covered dun sported a few broken windows, and a hole
in the far roof. Six incredibly ornate wrought iron arches lined a stone
pathway between a gate in the outer fence and the front entrance that she had
emerged from. Large roses sat amidst shamrocks and between square rails. Real
ivy grew up the sides and over the top of all but one arch. Dead brown leaves
rustled in the breeze and dripped between open iron work. Fresh green leaves
were beginning to sprout. Black wrought iron chains connected the arches to
each other. She ducked beneath a chain and crossed the lawn along the side of
the house.
Working in the rose bushes along the outer fence, a man with a knife cut
away non blooming sprigs. A great, brute of an animal slept on his back in the
middle of the lawn. Across from him, a fat yellow tabby sat on a windowsill and
licked her paws contentedly. A fat, dead mouse waited next to her. The dog
caught Emily’s attention again, when it ripped off a long, loud snore. Chickens
pecked about its head and its tail as if completely oblivious to the dog’s
presence.
The man with the knife laughed at his dog. Then he turned to her and
doffed his cap. Bright red hair diverted her attention next. “Father left you
and the Brigadier something to breakfast on. ‘Tis on top of the stove. All ya
have to do is heat it.”
“I don’t cook. Can you?”
“Sorry,” the man smiled. “I don’t cook neither. That’s what I married
for.”
“Your wife then?” she said, turning aside.
“Nay, Enid is living in Killelea at the moment. At least until we can
rebuild. The Brits destroyed everything when they evicted us.”
“Now see here,” Emily began, her dander rising. Her servants would never
be allowed to speak to her in this manner.
“Excuse me?” he smiled and leaned closer to her.
“I mean, are you or are you not the gardener here?”
“Nay, I’m a farmer from down the road. And a Republican in his own
country. And you, m’Lady, came uninvited. You want to eat, help yourself. You
want the Irish to wait on ya, go back to England. I’m here because your husband
would be a decent man. I’m hoping you find him. If it were up to that bastard
sleeping it off in there this morning,” the man indicated the dun with his
knife, “M’sister and her husband would have been buried in the English rubbish
heap.”
Emily shivered as recognition came upon her. “You were the man who
threatened Ian last evening.” She glanced at his knife as he sliced off another
brown sprig.
He nodded at it and tossed the twig into a growing pile. “A thought.”
Emily smiled and excused herself. Something dangerous about this man,
something titillating. Slowly, glancing back as she departed, she made her way
towards the front.
“You’re going in the wrong direction,” the man called.
She paused. “Pardon?”
“The kitchen is back that way.“ He pointed with his knife.
“Oh? Is there an entrance back there?”
He smiled again, maybe crookedly, and wiped the blade of his knife on is
trouser leg. “I’ll show ya.” A twinkle in his eye told her he was as aroused as
she was.
*
“Ya know, Reggie, my boyo, you look ill.” Damn O'Brennigan, he barely
kept his chuckle from his voice. Reggie refused to look at him, focusing on the
sheep instead. Damned birds seemed to be taking over again, as if threatening
to push people, buildings, and all the rest off the Lowside and into the
Channel. “Ya didn’t see this coming?”
He didn’t respond. God help him if he could say it aloud.
“Liam, behave yourself,” Mrs. O'Brennigan ordered harshly. “This isn’t
something to be finding pleasure in.”
“What isn’t, Bridey?” He laughed heartily and without remorse. “I didn’t
think Brendan had it in him.”
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