Secrets of the Lighthouse (13 page)

‘But why would they gossip about Peg?’

Alanna put down her glass and lowered her voice. ‘You know that your aunt lost a little girl, don’t you?’

Ellen stared at her in horror. ‘No, I didn’t know. When?’

‘Many years ago now. She had her boys and then she had a little girl called Ciara.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘She died when she was seven, bless her. It was a terrible tragedy.’

‘How did she die?’

‘She drowned in the sea. It was an accident, of course. But Peg has never got over it. I don’t think a mother ever gets over losing a child, she just learns to live with
it.’

‘God, that’s awful,’ Ellen gasped. She envisaged Peg’s lonely figure striding out across the field to see to her sheep and knew now why she had an air of sorrow about
her. ‘Did they find her?’

‘Yes, they’d only taken their eyes off her for a moment and there she was face down in the water. They’d been arguing about something, so, naturally, they blamed themselves.
The marriage was a difficult one before that, but afterwards it became intolerable.’

‘Oh, poor Peg. That’s terrible. What a burden to carry around.’

‘Her brothers look after her. They’re very protective. And she has Ronan just down the road. No one talks about it, but we’re all aware. It’s impossible to move beyond
something like that.’

‘So, that’s why her husband went to live in America.’

‘A tragedy like that either binds you tighter together, or pulls you apart. In their case, it pulled them apart. It was no one’s fault, but they blamed each other and themselves and
when Bill said he wanted to leave, Peg dug her heels in. She wanted to stay to be close to Ciara. She’s buried in the church here.’

Ellen’s heart went out to Peg. She realized now why she had looked so sad when she had spoken in the car about her ex-husband and his daughter.

‘Is that why she still calls herself Peg
Byrne
?’

‘She’s always been Peg Byrne in spite of her married name. It never stuck.’ Alanna patted her arm and gave her a meaningful stare. ‘You won’t mention this, will
you?’

‘No, of course I won’t.’

‘I probably shouldn’t have told you, but if you’re going to be living with her, it’s important that you understand why she is the way she is.’

‘I don’t imagine my mother knows.’

‘No, she wouldn’t do. When your mother left, I think Ronan hadn’t yet been born.’

‘I’m sure she’d be devastated that she wasn’t there to comfort her own sister when she lost a child.’

‘Don’t tell her. It’s for Peg to tell her, should she ever want to.’

‘I won’t, I promise.’

Ellen left the pub feeling low. Johnny, his wife, Emer, and Joe dropped her back at Peg’s on their way home, too merry to notice the change in her mood. She remained a
moment outside as their tail lights disappeared down the hill and into the lane. The lighthouse was silhouetted against the sky, which was now clear and starry. She thought of Ciara drowning in
that sea and wondered how Peg could bear to look at it every morning when she opened her curtains. Perhaps it gave her comfort to think of her child’s spirit out there, not too far away.
Maybe her proximity to the place where her daughter drowned made her feel close to her child.

She stood there in the damp, gazing out at the vast horizon and wide sea. A crescent moon shone brightly, like the wind-filled sail of a little boat, dribbling a pale ribbon of silver onto the
water as it slowly climbed the sky. Ellen felt fonder of Peg now that she knew the sad undercurrent of her life. Oswald must know too, she thought, for he was her close companion and probably her
confidant. She remembered the breakfast scene that morning and the cheerful banter between Peg and her brothers. There was consolation in a big family. She thought of hers back in London. There was
little consolation in that.

Later, she lay in bed and listened to the roar of the sea and the moaning of the wind as it blew around the corners of the house. It was a soothing lullaby. There were no wailing sirens, buzzing
motorbikes or cars. No voices of drunken revellers staggering up the street after a heavy night out and no noisy neighbours playing loud music. The sounds of the countryside were soft and
mysterious, and the darkness deep and impenetrable. It wasn’t long before Ellen drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, she awoke to the cry of a lapwing and Mr Badger’s barking as he chased sheep around the field with Peg. She lay a moment, savouring the novelty of not
having to get up to go to work. The day spread out before her like the blank pages of her novel. She could make it up as she went along.

‘So, how was the pub last night?’ Peg asked, as Ellen tucked into her bowl of porridge.

‘Very noisy,’ she replied. ‘I met so many relations. You seem to dominate this town.’

‘I think we do. Though there are a few other big families besides us.’ Peg hand-fed Jack a small lump of bread. He grabbed it greedily in his beak. ‘So, what are you going to
do today? Are you going to start writing?’

‘I think I’ll go for a long walk and maybe try and work out a plot in the afternoon.’

‘That’s a good idea, pet. There are plenty of nice places to walk around here.’

Ellen took a sip of tea and wondered why it tasted better in Peg’s kitchen than her own. ‘Can I get you anything in town?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Food?’

‘Oh, that. No, I went out to get the messages yesterday.’

Ellen assumed messages meant groceries. She was beginning to get used to their Irish accents and slang. ‘I’d like to contribute, Aunt Peg.’

Peg’s face flowered into a smile. ‘So, you like it here, do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ Ellen looked baffled. ‘Well, if you want to contribute that means you’re intending to stay a while. No one offers to contribute if they’re only staying a
few days.’

Ellen smiled back, a little embarrassed. ‘If that’s all right?’

‘Of course it’s all right, pet. You can stay as long as you want. There’s no one angling for your bedroom.’

‘Then I shall claim it for now.’

‘That’s grand. Now don’t be silly. If I need you to contribute, I’ll ask you. I call a spade a spade, so you’ll know.’

‘OK, deal.’

‘Now, it’s a beautiful day, so you’ll have a nice time exploring. You can take my car if you like. I’m not going anywhere today.’

‘Do you think Johnny and Joe will mind if I wander around up at the castle?’

‘I suspect they’ll be delighted. Any excuse to stop working.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I can’t imagine those two getting anything done up there. When Mrs Macausland
was alive they were always planting and planning new things to do to the gardens. My Ronan built a bench around a tree so she could sit and enjoy the lake, and he built a tree house, too, for the
children. She was full of ideas. I think she must have been bored.’

‘I got the impression that Ronan really liked her.’

‘That he did. He made a lot of money out of her commissions.’ She chuckled fondly at the mention of her son. ‘Ronan was a little star-struck, I think. He became very angry when
she died. He ranted on about how Mr Macausland had killed her and really, we all got quite fed up with him. The police never arrested anyone and there was no proof whatsoever that there was any
foul play, but Ronan was adamant. The truth is that no one knows what happened there that night, not Ronan, not anybody but Mr Macausland. Ronan can think what he likes. Now he doesn’t like
to talk about her – or for anyone else to, for that matter.’

‘I can understand that. He was one of the only people here who really knew her.’

‘Well, she didn’t belong to him, but she had a talent for making everyone who met her feel special. Ronan thought he was special, but so did Johnny and Joe, too. She was as
captivating as an enchantress and they all fell for her charms. So, it’s understandable that he was affected by her death. Death is so final. It’s hard to come to terms with it.’
Ellen looked away. Now that she knew about the tragedy of Peg’s little girl she felt uncomfortable looking at her when she talked about death, as if to watch her face would somehow be
intrusive.

A while later, Ellen drove beneath the burr oaks to Ballymaldoon Castle. Having initially found the place frightening, she was now drawn by its beauty. The sun shone through
the branches, projecting crisscross patterns that quivered on the drive as the wind gently blew them. In the dazzling light of day the castle itself looked benign, its towers and turrets the stuff
of fairy tales. Johnny’s red truck was parked in front of the castle beside another little car that probably belonged to a cleaner or caretaker. As much as she wanted to look around the
castle interior, she knew that might be considered prying were she to be caught. So she contented herself with the grounds instead.

She wandered about looking for Johnny and Joe, but the estate was so big and full of walled gardens, arboretums and orchards that she gave up after a while and set off she knew not where. Every
now and then the sun disappeared behind a cloud, plunging her into shade, only to re-emerge a minute later, chasing the shadows down the hills and across the valley. It was a dramatic sight. She
felt her spirits lift and her chest expand with happiness as she marched alone over the wild terrain. She climbed steep slopes and jumped over little streams, clambered up rocky crags and scaled
meandering stone walls. The sound of birdsong filled the air and the breeze was rich with the smell of fertile soil and pink Irish heather that grew up from the rocks, giving the stark landscape a
surprising flourish of colour. She lost herself in nature, letting her curiosity take her further into the wilderness.

She walked for a long time. She didn’t know how long because she hadn’t remembered to put on her watch that morning. Her stomach told her that it must be near lunchtime and she
cursed herself for not having brought a biscuit at the very least. Trying to remember which way she’d come, she began to retrace her steps. The trouble was, every hill and vale looked the
same to her inexperienced eye. Just when she thought she was on the right track, another horizon rose up to contradict her.

At first, she didn’t panic. She was sure she’d hit a path eventually, or spot the castle towers or even the sea. She grew thirsty and her legs got heavier with each step but the
splendour of the landscape distracted her from discomfort and her spirits remained optimistic. She walked for about half an hour before deciding to climb the hill to the top. Surely from up there
she would see the castle and be able to navigate her way back. Hastily she set off, her throat tightening with anxiety. But as she neared the crest she became aware that behind it was simply
another peak to climb. She was nowhere near the top; she was well and truly lost. At that point she panicked. What if she never found her way home? Would she die out there from exposure? It was mid
February, after all. Would anybody know where to look for her? If she screamed would anyone but the birds hear her?

Just when her courage was about to slump, she heard the sound of whistling followed by a man’s voice shouting for his dog. Her heart leapt at the prospect of being rescued and she ran as
fast as her tired legs could carry her in the direction of the voice. She scrambled over rocks and stumbled down the slope until she almost skidded straight into a big chestnut horse and his rider,
walking over the brow of the mountain towards her.

The horse tossed back his head in surprise and lifted his front legs off the ground. The man steadied his steed with an experienced hand and glared down at Ellen in fury. ‘What the devil
do you think you’re doing?’

But Ellen didn’t hear him, so great was her relief. ‘Thank God!’ she panted, staggering out of the way. She was gasping for breath and flushed from running, and the desire to
cry was almost overwhelming. She didn’t notice the man’s irritation, which quickly gave way to a grudging concern when he saw how frightened she was.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked brusquely. His Irish accent was mild compared with the Byrnes’. She nodded vigorously, catching her breath. ‘Magnum!’ he bellowed. A
moment later an enormous pale-brown mastiff appeared over the lip of a knoll and came trotting towards them.

‘That’s a very big dog,’ she said as the muscles in her legs suddenly began to shake from fatigue.

‘Don’t worry, he won’t eat you. You’re too small.’ He appraised her curiously, after which his tone softened. ‘You’re not from here, are you?’

‘No, I’m from London.’

‘You’ve come a long way.’ The corners of his mouth curled into the beginnings of a smile.

His joke inspired a weak smile in return. ‘I mean,
originally
from London. I’m staying with my aunt.’

‘Who is?’

‘Peg Byrne.’

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Another family member, eh?’ He looked her up and down.

‘Yes, there are an awful lot of us, aren’t there?’

‘What’s your name, then?’

‘Ellen.’

‘And what are you doing out here?’

The commanding tone in his voice made her heart give a sudden thump. She stared up at his face, partly obscured by a brown fedora hat and a soft black beard, and recognized his features from the
mental picture she had drawn during her conversations with Johnny and Joe. He was handsome, with dark skin and the brightest cornflower-blue eyes she had ever seen, deep set and framed by thick
black lashes. His hair reached his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a very long time. He stared down at her imperiously, waiting for her response, and she guessed at once
who he was. It couldn’t be anyone else. He had the air of a man who owned every inch of those mountains.

‘I’m afraid I’m trespassing,’ she said, forgetting her exhaustion now that she knew who she was talking to.

He nodded. ‘I’m afraid you are.’ But his smile reassured her that he wasn’t angry. ‘Conor Macausland. This is my land and I’d hazard a guess that you’re
lost.’

‘Yes, I was so happy walking I didn’t imagine I’d be unable to find my way back. I didn’t intend to stray so far.’

‘Where did you come from?’