Little Girl Lost (35 page)

Maeve hesitated and Brendan could see that she was considering either refusing to tell or making up a story which would be acceptable to her audience, but then she shrugged, gave Caitlin a small smile, and began to speak. ‘I met Timmy Two-Shoes – the tramp, you know. I asked him if he’d seen Nick and Kitty – he knows Kitty quite well because many a time she’s give him her Saturday penny, kind little thing that she is – and he couldn’t bring them to mind. Then I said it were an odd thing but Tommy the cat seemed to have took himself off as well, and old Timmy slapped his leg and began to laugh. When he’d got over chokin’ and wipin’ his eyes, he said he’d seen two lads walkin’ along a country lane wit’ this big old cat at their heels. He called out to them, askin’ which of ’em was Dick Whittington, and the little lad pushed back his cap and laughed and said that he was the Marquis of Carabas and old Tommy here was Puss in Boots. Then the older lad nudged him and pushed the little lad’s cap down over his eyes, and they went their ways.

‘I asked him if the older lad could have been Nick Mooney but he just looked shifty and said he couldn’t tell one lad from another, but he did know a girl when he saw one and he’d not seen our Kitty, not for weeks.’

‘Could the smaller boy have been Kitty, wit’ her plaits tucked under the cap?’ Caitlin asked eagerly, even as Brendan opened his mouth to put the same question. ‘She’s a bright kid is our Kitty, and so’s Nick. We guessed ages ago that they would have disposed of her decent clothing and got some raggedy stuff from somewhere, but wouldn’t it make sense now if she dressed herself as a boy? No one would look twice at two young boys – though the cat would raise eyebrows.’

‘That’s what I t’ought,’ Maeve said, a trifle grudgingly. ‘And dressed as a boy she’s safer than if folk knew she were a girl. So tomorrow I’m going to head for the part of the country where old Timmy saw the lads and the cat. I’m sure we’re on the right track at last, so I am.’

‘I t’ink you’re right,’ Brendan said eagerly. ‘Whereabouts was this boreen?’

Maeve hesitated, then said flatly: ‘I’ll not be after telling you, ’cos I don’t want you gettin’ there first an’ scaring the living daylights out of me darlin’ girl wit’ talk of takin’ her over the water. But don’t worry yourself; I’ll bring her back to Handkerchief Alley, ’cos it’s the only home Kitty and meself know.’

Brendan felt the heat rise up his neck and into his face and longed to give the girl a good telling off; if necessary, to shake the truth out of her. This was his chance to prove to Sylvie that he loved her and cared deeply what happened to her little daughter, and this slip of a girl was trying to undermine him. But Caitlin was looking warningly at him and he realised that if he became aggressive he would only antagonise this small, determined creature. So he smiled placatingly, and assured her that nothing was further from his thoughts than to rush out to find a child he had never seen in his life before. ‘But if you’d let me go wit’ you, sure and I’d be grateful to my life’s end,’ he said humbly. ‘And I promise not to so much as mention crossing the water until we’re back here in Handkerchief Alley.’

‘Very well,’ Maeve said, after a pause so lengthy that Brendan feared she was not even going to reply. ‘Where’s you stayin’ in Dublin?’

‘He’s stayin’ here; he can sleep on the sofa,’ Caitlin said at once. ‘Then the two of you can set off as early as you’ve a mind tomorrow morning.’ She glanced apologetically at Brendan. ‘There’s been so much talk that I’ve not had chance to prepare food for supper; how’s about if you nip down to Thomas Street for me, Bren? There’s a fried fish shop only a few doors along.’ She hesitated and Brendan saw the pink begin to stain her cheeks. ‘I’m a bit short of money right now, but if you could . . .’

‘I’d be glad to buy for us all as a small thank you for lettin’ me stay in your house,’ Brendan said heartily. ‘Shall I go now?’

‘Yes please,’ Caitlin said. Maeve was beginning to unpack the huge marketing bag, carrying potatoes, swedes, carrots and other vegetables to their places on the pantry shelves. He noticed that, in the house, she dispensed completely with her crutch, and though she limped a little and occasionally clutched at the furniture, he thought that a stranger would not have realised that she was disabled. He wondered about offering to help her, then remembered his errand. ‘I’ll buy for eight; that’s right, isn’t it?’ he said, as he opened the kitchen door. ‘I shan’t be long.’

Next morning, Brendan woke when sunshine slanted in through a gap in the curtains and fell across his face. For a moment he was confused for, of late, he had woken in so many different places: in tents, in trenches, in forward dressing stations, and of course in the attic bedroom at the Ferryman, as well as his own little room in the cottage where he had been born. But as soon as he looked round, he remembered. This was his cousin Caitlin’s kitchen and he was spending the night here so that he and Maeve might set out early in their quest to find Kitty.

He lay back on the rather lumpy pillow with which Caitlin had provided him, thinking lazily how very much he had enjoyed the previous evening. When he had returned from his shopping expedition the children had been home and he had been really impressed by them. Clodagh was a tall, willowy girl with a mass of dark hair and her mother’s big brown eyes. She was quick and competent about the house and had told him about her job – she made sacks in a large factory down by the quays – with a good deal of tolerant humour and a quantity of easy charm. Her sister Grainne was round-faced and chubby, with black curls and an infectious giggle. Neither girl was shy, and nor were the twins or Colm. They were polite, never interrupting their elders, and later in the evening he had told Caitlin he thought she had done an excellent job in the upbringing of her children. She had blushed with pleasure, though she had quickly disclaimed. ‘’Tis Maeve you should be congratulating, for she’s had the rearing of them whilst I worked,’ she pointed out. ‘And the boys’ manners were dinned into them when they were little lads by me darlin’ Pat. But they’re grand kids and I’m glad you’ve took to ’em.’

But now, hearing a noise from the room next door, Brendan swung his feet off the sofa and stood up. He’d better get himself dressed and ready before the family invaded the kitchen. It wouldn’t take long, since he had not stripped off but had merely removed his trousers and shirt.

He went to the sink and had a quick wash, then dressed and padded across to the fire, which was smouldering dully, and poked it into life. Then he picked up the heavy black kettle and pulled it over the flame. He imagined that Maeve would be the first up and it would do their future relationship no harm if he greeted her with a friendly word and a nice cup of tea. But when the kitchen door opened, it was Caitlin and not Maeve who stepped into the room.

‘Mornin’, Caitlin,’ Brendan said breezily. ‘I’ve pulled the kettle over the fire so’s we can all have a cup of tea . . . I thought it would be best if Maeve and meself took a bite of breakfast before setting off.’

Caitlin stared at him for a moment and Brendan saw the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Isn’t – isn’t Maeve here?’ she quavered. ‘I heard her get up a couple of hours ago. I didn’t expect to see you still here, Bren; I thought the pair of you would be well on the road by now.’

Brendan stared back, feeling his own face flush and knowing that this was with rage. How dared she leave without him! She had promised they should go together . . . well, no, thinking back he realised she had made no promises, had just appeared to comply with his suggestion that they should search together. In fact, the only promise she’d made – if it was a promise – was to bring Kitty back to Handkerchief Alley since this was the only home that she and Kitty had ever known. But Caitlin was speaking, and he guessed she had read the anger in his face and was worried by it. ‘It’ll be all right, Brendan. Don’t t’ink Maeve was trying to steal a march on you or prevent you from finding Kitty,’ she said urgently.

‘Oh, really?’ Brendan said. ‘I’d have thought different meself, but I’ll take your word for it.’

‘I told you earlier, she’s never so much as glanced at a feller and it’s my opinion that she’s scared of men. Oh, she loved our Pat and she’s fond of the boys, but she’s shy as a little bird wit’ fellers she don’t know, honest to God she is.’

Brendan slumped down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. ‘But she never said she’d bring the child straight back here and it’s my belief she’ll do no such t’ing. Oh, I don’t doubt she’ll bring her back eventually, but not while I’m here, for as you know, Cait, I need to work, same as we all do, so I can’t stay here indefinitely. An’ who’s to say she’ll find the kid anyway? If only I’d been straight with her . . . but I weren’t, an’ that’s the truth. She – she made me mad so I sort of pretended I meant to take Kitty back to her real mammy for good, though all I truly meant to do was to take her to Liverpool for a few days so that Sylvie could see her daughter were alive and well. Then I’d have brought her back to Ireland, if that was what she wanted.’

‘It’s a great shame you didn’t say so,’ Caitlin said sadly. ‘For I’m afraid you may be right. Maeve’s a resourceful young woman; she could get a job, hire a room somewhere, and stay away from Dublin for months, maybe years. Brendan, my love, you must go after her.’

Brendan sat up and stared at his cousin. ‘But I don’t know where she’s gone, and neither do you,’ he said heavily. ‘Sure and I’d search the whole of Ireland if I could, but . . .’

‘But I do know Timmy Two-Shoes,’ Caitlin said triumphantly. ‘And I know where he’ll be sleepin’ of a night when he’s in Dublin. Can you make porridge? But it doesn’t matter. Clodagh was getting dressed when I passed her bedroom door. She’ll do it, only I’ll have to go at once before Timmy’s up and has had a chance to get going. And don’t worry that he’ll not tell me, ’cos he’s a grand old feller and wouldn’t want me worrying.’ As she spoke, she was rushing across to the pantry, taking out a chunk of cheese, removing a loaf of bread from the crock, and hurrying back to the table. Quickly, she made a hefty sandwich which she wrapped in a sheet of newspaper. Then she crossed the room, took a coat off the back of the door and pushed the sandwich into a pocket. ‘Besides, I’m after thinking it’s not every day that Timmy Two-Shoes gets his breakfast served by a pretty woman,’ she finished, and whisked out of the door before Brendan could thank her.

Chapter Thirteen

When Kitty awoke in the early hours of the morning, it was raining; the fine, soft Irish rain which penetrates every garment on your back, yet falls so gently that it seems more like a mist than proper rain. She and Nick were curled up in the middle of a nice haystack into which they had burrowed the previous evening, but despite the fact that she was warm and cosy – though a trifle itchy, for hayseeds down the neck are not the best of bedfellows – she was depressed by the sight of the rain. She had thought that sleeping under the stars would be romantic but she had not bargained either for rain or for the extreme cold that sometimes descended as darkness fell. When they found property owned by someone with sufficient money to have outbuildings it was usually well fenced against intruders, and the smaller places did not run to such luxuries.

Cautiously, Kitty shifted Tommy’s warm body from the curve of her stomach and crawled down the short passageway through which they had entered the haystack. It was difficult to tell what time it was for the grey clouds hid the sky completely, but she guessed that it was early; no cock crowed, no dog barked, and there was no sound of human beings stirring.

Satisfied, Kitty crawled back into their warm nest; you never knew, in a couple of hours the rain might have cleared. Tommy, who had uttered a mew of protest as he felt her warmth withdraw, began to purr deeply and resoundingly as she cuddled against him once more. She was actually drifting back to sleep when a thought occurred to her and gave her a certain amount of satisfaction. This was the very first time since she had left Handkerchief Alley that she had woken in the morning and not thought immediately and wistfully of Maeve and the O’Keefes, of the comfortable life she had lived and of the good food that had arrived on the table morning and evening. But now I’m not only growing accustomed, I’m beginning to enjoy the freedom, she told herself. Sister Jeremiah was kind and gentle but the other nuns had been real horrors, so though she regretted that she would not be properly educated she thought life ‘on the hoof’, as Nick called it, might well prove a good deal more amusing. Nick had warned her pretty often that when winter came they would have to find some sort of work or refuge, but it was not yet the end of April and winter seemed a long way ahead. Kitty drifted off to sleep.

The second time she awoke, it was to hear definite indications that the outside world was awakening. A cow lowed, then a rooster began to crow and Kitty heard the distant sound of a bucket clanking as someone went to the well. Hastily, she sat up. They had chosen a haystack as far away from the farmhouse as possible but, even so, Nick made it a rule that the three of them should be well away from their sleeping place by the time people were astir.

‘Nick!’ Kitty shook her companion’s shoulder and he woke at once, sitting up and knuckling his eyes and glancing around him as though he, too, wondered for a moment where he was. But Nick was an old hand, and did not waste time asking questions. ‘Out!’ he said. ‘Grab your stuff; c’mon, Tommy.’

As the three of them emerged from the haystack, Kitty realised that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining, though there was a chilly breeze and the long wet grass felt ice-cold to her bare feet. They were halfway across the meadow, heading for the little lane which bordered it, when they heard a shout behind them. Nick kept determinedly on, but Kitty glanced back and saw a large, heavily built man carrying what she assumed to be a milk pail in either hand, staring at them. There was a black and white dog at his heels and when they did not answer his shout he uttered a sharp command and the dog streaked towards them, ears flat, mouth opening to show a remarkably fine set of teeth. Kitty had always liked dogs but there was something in the way the animal covered the ground that made her give Nick a sharp dig in the back. ‘He’s set the perishin’ dog on us,’ she said. ‘Let’s run!’