A Kiss and a Promise (47 page)

‘You know very well why I’ll want a bus to Dublin, Michael,’ Mabel said. Her voice sounded impatient, but there was a little break in it too. ‘Once Ginny’s found, my job’s over. I came to introduce the pair of you, if you remember, and … and …’

‘Oh, but you can’t just turn round and leave me wit’ a daughter I’ve never set eyes on before,’ Michael said eagerly. ‘Ginny an’ meself is strangers, so we are – she may even be afraid of me! You’ll come wit’ us to Headland Farm, surely? Me parents would never forgive me if I didn’t introduce the young lady who helped me in me search … we’ll catch a train or a bus, you won’t have to walk … an’ you’ve never seen Kerry – ‘tis the most beautiful place in Ireland, so it is. You can’t come all this way and …’

Mabel smiled at him. ‘We’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t we?’ she said gently. ‘We haven’t even found Ginny yet. Don’t – don’t let’s argue, Michael, because we’ve been good friends, haven’t we? But – but you knew I’d have to go home once Ginny was found, didn’t you?’

She was looking up at him and it was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to say that there was no need for her to go home, that she could make her home in Ireland with him, that he loved her, had loved her pretty well from the moment they’d first met although he hadn’t recognised the feeling for what it was. But then he remembered the calm, authoritative schoolteacher who had shown, all too clearly, what she thought of Michael Gallagher, and his courage failed him. He mumbled that he supposed she was right but that there was no point in discussing it now, and made for the stairs and his room.

Their landlady made them sandwiches and a bottle of cold tea so that they should not starve during their vigil, and the two of them made their way to the ground where they had been told the tinkers would camp. It was an ideal spot, but though they waited until dusk began to fall, no one came into the clearing below them. They saw squirrels, a good few rabbits, and a wary dog fox who came down to the river to drink, but no tinkers. Because their hiding place was halfway up a hill, they had a good view of the track along which the Kavanaghs would come, so they were able to relax, to chat and to discuss how they would extract Ginny from amongst her companions just as soon as they were able.

At first, the atmosphere between the two of them had been a little tense because of their breakfast time conversation, but it soon eased once more into normal warmth and friendship, and by the time they were descending into the village again all their differences had been forgotten.

‘We’ll get up early tomorrow and return to our hiding place as soon as we’ve ate our breakfast,’ Michael said, as they made their way to the boarding house. ‘Mrs O’Mara is a good sort, she’ll do us a packed lunch again, so we can stay there all day. But I feel in me bones that tomorrow we’re going to be lucky.’

‘Lucky in one way, unlucky in another,’ Mabel said.

Michael looked at her curiously. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked bluntly. He watched with interest as the rose deepened in her cheeks. Could it be that she was enjoying their adventure as much as he was? Was it possible that, much though she wanted to find Ginny, she would regret that their journey through this now sunny land would be coming to an end? But it seemed that Mabel had been thinking along more practical lines.

‘We-ell, judging from what folk have said about the Kavanaghs, we may not find it too easy to get her out of their clutches,’ she explained. ‘Everyone has said there are good tinkers and bad and the Kavanaghs are obviously very bad indeed. I know we haven’t discussed it, but it’s been in my mind for a while that they might be holding Ginny against her will. They might even demand money from you for her safe return. I know it happens a lot in books, but it happens in real life, too,’ she ended, giving Michael a look which was half frightened, half apologetic.

Michael stared at her. The same thought had constantly occurred to him but he had not said anything to her because somehow it seemed so far-fetched. The Gallagher farm supported the family and allowed them to save a little but they were always dependent on a good harvest, on the ewes lambing well, on the weather being kind. A bad season could nigh on ruin them, and there had been years when only the fishing had enabled them to carry on. True, they were more established now but even so, he could not imagine that any ransom worth having could be paid to the tinkers from their few precious acres.

He said as much to Mabel, who shook her head sadly at his innocence. ‘Remember, Michael, these people have never lived in one place for longer than a few days. To them, anyone with a roof over their heads must seem rich beyond compare. They steal a couple of hens for the pot and a clutch of eggs from the nest, but they see the farmer with twenty or thirty hens, with a couple of pigs in the sty … apples on the tree … meadows with stock grazing upon it. To them, a tiny holding of an acre or so must seem to represent unheard of wealth.’

Michael snorted. ‘Then it’s sorely disappointed they’re goin’ to be,’ he said roundly. They had reached their lodgings and he ushered Mabel in ahead of him. ‘But I understand what you mean, because of course it’s occurred to me too – that they might be holdin’ her against her will, I mean. Still, we’ll find a way round it, you see if we don’t. And now let’s be havin’ a good tea to build up our strength for tomorrow.’

They were there by the time the sun had climbed above the hills, and saw the first signs of an approach within half an hour of their arrival. There were a couple of caravans, eight or ten horse-drawn wagons, a good few horses, mules and donkeys and, of course, a great many tinkers. So far as Michael could see, no one was riding in the caravans although a man sat up in front of each, idly slapping the reins on the horse’s neck, whilst the women and children walked alongside, the women carrying heavy burdens, the children minding the livestock with the aid of half a dozen skinny, savage-looking dogs.

Mabel and Michael scanned the arrivals eagerly but, as Mabel said, Ginny’s fiery head would have stood out a mile and there was no sign of her. ‘But of course, if they are keeping her captive, they aren’t likely to let her wander around the encampment,’ Mabel pointed out. ‘I’d not thought of caravans … oh!’

For even as she spoke, the caravan doors were pulled open by a couple of women climbing ponderously aboard. They then began to bring out such a quantity of goods that Michael doubted whether even a mouse could have found space to remain within. The tinkers began to erect tents and to build a fire in the middle of the clearing; plainly, they were settling down here for a while, at least. Michael guessed that it was conveniently near the village of Toomyvara, where they would sell bunches of lucky heather to the superstitious, hand-whittled clothes pegs to the housewives and bass brooms, clothes props and other such items to anyone willing to part with a few coppers. He knew they would steal what they could, but there were some things which must be bought and these things could be obtained in a village. Yes, he thought the tinkers would be here for a day, possibly more.

When the sun was at its height, he and Mabel agreed that even if Ginny had once been with the Kavanaghs, she was with them no longer. Michael was tempted to go down into the encampment and ask questions, but Mabel was against it. ‘I can’t explain why I think it’s a bad idea, but I’d much rather you didn’t,’ she said urgently. ‘They look such a dirty, disreputable lot. I’m sure if they knew you were searchin’ for Ginny, they would search for her, too, and that might lead to all sorts of trouble. I mean, there are dozens of them, and if they found her first …’

‘Awright, but if they come into the village – and I’m sure they will – mebbe I could stop one o’ the kids and ask ’em if they’d seen a red-haired girl in a blue dress,’ Michael said rather diffidently. He saw Mabel’s point about not alerting the tinkers to the fact that his daughter was lost, but he had been deeply disappointed to find that she was not with the band and was rather at a loss what to do next.

Mabel made up his mind for him. ‘If we want to have a word with one of the kids then I think we ought to make our way back to the village as quickly as we can,’ she said. ‘The chances are they’ll send someone out to the shops as soon as they’ve made camp, and you know what kids are – one or two of them are bound to tag along out of curiosity, if nothing else. The only thing is, we don’t want the tinkers to know they’re being spied on, do we? So can we get away without alerting them, do you think?’

Michael looked at the surrounding terrain. Their little copse was just below the top of a small hillock. ‘We’ll be fine, so we shall,’ he said bracingly, standing up and beginning to gather their belongings together. ‘After all, it’s no sin to walk through the Irish countryside. For all they know, we could be trekking from town to town, doing fieldwork whenever it was offered – just like themselves, in fact. Tell you what, you take hold of me arm an’ we’ll look like a couple out for a stroll on a sunny day.’

Mabel caught hold of his arm and smiled up at him. ‘There’s trees and bushes between us and them, once we’re over the hillock,’ she observed. ‘I doubt if they’ll catch more than a glimpse, if that. They’re still awfully busy, Michael. Making camp takes a while and now they’re fetching water and beginning to prepare a meal, I imagine – see the woman in the purple skirt? She’s skinned and jointed a couple of rabbits and she’s putting the pieces into the pot and her friend, in the grey shawl, is plucking pigeons and a hen, and the kids are gathering up the feathers ever so carefully – I wonder what they use them for?’

‘I know they’re busy; it’s fascinating watching them because you wouldn’t expect tinks to be so organised,’ Michael said as they stole quietly away. ‘One of the girls – the plump one, with long, brown hair – washed a huge bunch of carrots in the river and then fished a knife out of her pocket and chopped ’em straight into the pot, as quick an’ neat as any butcher.’

‘I wonder whether Ginny was ever with them?’ Mabel asked idly, once they had regained the narrow country lane which wound down towards Toomyvara.

Michael shrugged. ‘I was certain, but now I’m not so sure, but I would like to find out for definite, so we’ll try to have a chat with one of the kids if they do come into the town.’

Despite the fact that their search for Ginny at the tinkers’ camp had been fruitless, Michael found himself whistling a tune beneath his breath as they walked down the lane and was delighted when Mabel, recognising the melody, began to sing the words. They were thus engaged, still sauntering along, when something made Michael glance behind him and he saw the young girl from the tinkers’ camp, who had been washing carrots, following them. She was carrying a string bag full of pegs and smiled as she saw him watching her. She looked a good deal cleaner and more neatly dressed than the other children in the camp and Michael smiled back, deciding that she was probably the result of a mixed marriage. As she drew level with them, he put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘Hang on a moment, alanna! Are you after sellin’ them pegs, because if so, I’ll relieve you of, say, three dozen.’

The child’s smile had been a little guarded but now it widened joyfully and she said, her voice holding no trace of an Irish accent, ‘Thank you kindly, mister. That’ll be a shillin’ to you.’

Michael guessed that she expected him to bargain but he did not intend to do any such thing. Instead, he nodded agreeably and watched as the girl set down her bag on the grassy verge and began, painstakingly, to count out thirty-six pegs.

‘Dicky Diddlum whittled these pegs,’ the child said conversationally, as she counted out the first dozen and began on the second. ‘He makes the best pegs out o’ the whole tribe. When he’s done ’em, he rubs ’em wi’ sandpaper so you’ll get no snags on your washing from
these
pegs. And that’s why they’re a bit pricier than most,’ she finished triumphantly, setting out the second row of a dozen. She looked curiously up at Mabel, who had sat down on a mossy log beside her. ‘Has your feller bought all these pegs for you?’ she enquired. ‘D’you have a heap o’ kids so you need a heap o’ pegs? Us Kavanaghs don’t use washin’ lines; we spreads our clothes over the bushes and the big boulders down by the river.’

Mabel fingered one of the pegs admiringly. ‘They are really fine,’ she said. ‘The pegs are for me, of course, but we don’t have a heap of children. In fact, we’ve only got one and – and we’ve lost her. We wondered, my fellow and me, if you might have come across her? Her name’s Ginny and she’s got long, curly red hair and … why, whatever is the matter, my dear?’ For with Mabel’s words, Michael saw that the child’s round and rosy face had drained of colour and the capable, though dirty little hands doling out the pegs had grown still as stone.

Even as he watched, he saw large tears appear in the child’s eyes and roll down her cheeks, and at the same moment she threw down an extra handful of pegs and scrambled to her feet.

‘I – I dunno nothing,’ she muttered, staring fixedly down at the ground. ‘There’s – there’s no kid called Ginny in our – in our fambly and we’s all Kavanaghs, you know. You – you can have the pegs for nothin’, mister … oh!’

For Michael, realising that she was about to depart, and at speed, had grabbed her arm and was hanging on to it firmly. ‘No you don’t, my girl,’ he said. It’s clear as daylight you know a deal more about my Ginny than you mean to tell me, but it ain’t on. We
know
she were with the Kavanaghs because she were spotted in Portlaoise – she were with a young chiseller – so there’s no use lyin’ to us.’ He took hold of her other arm, turning her so that she was forced to face him. ‘What happened, eh? And let’s have the truth this time, or I’ll take you straight into the village and hand you over to the nearest Gardai as a liar and a kidnapper. Unless you tell us the truth, that is, and quickly.’

The girl looked wildly from one to another, but she must have read the resolution in both faces for she bent her head once more, then jerked up her chin and looked Michael straight in the eye. ‘She were nice, were Ginny,’ she muttered. ‘I did me best to make her happy so’s she’d stay wi’ us and so did Conan – he were the young feller what brung her in. But she didn’t want to stay wi’ us – I dunno why – and the other day it rained and blew a gale, and the tribe was on the move, an’ – an’ she ran away. Conan went after her, meanin’ to bring her back, ’cos we woz goin’ to take her to her daddy, honest to God we woz. Only, the river were in flood an’ she an’ Conan – they – they tried to cross. Ginny slipped, Conan tried to grab her … and they – and they … were carried away.’