Little Girl Lost (41 page)

Maeve had smiled and returned the hug, but then she had shaken her head at him. ‘They’re in a tinker’s caravan wit’ a horse pullin’ it, I’ll grant you that,’ she had said, ‘but they’ll go at walking pace because I reckon neither of them would dare to drive the horse, and, of course, they don’t know we’re after them. If they had an adult with them it might be a different story, but as it is – well, a cart’s a deal easier to find than a cat. Oh, Brendan, we’re getting near ’em, I feel it in me bones.’

So here they were, two days later, penetrating deep into the wildest county Maeve had ever seen. Steep hills reared about them, rivers had carved deep valleys between. There were lush water meadows and pastures where fat beasts grazed. And there were woods, already brightened by bluebells which, seen from a distance, made the trees look as though they were standing in lakes of brilliant blue.

So far, they had found it easy enough to find a lodging each night, though the beds had often been just a couple of straw pallets laid down in the family kitchen. At first, folks took them for either husband and wife or father and daughter, and Brendan would have been happy not to challenge this, but Maeve was firm. ‘If you let folk believe that we’re related, then we’ll be given a pallet to share and that would never do,’ she had said crisply. ‘I know it’s a bit more awkward because they have to provide each of us with a separate bed of some description, but it’s better that way.’

‘Why?’ Brendan had said baldly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I don’t mind sharing a bed wit’ you, alanna; we share just about everything else.’

‘I snore,’ Maeve had said, with equal bluntness. ‘And I kick like a mule; sure and wouldn’t you be black and blue by mornin’? Anyway, folk is happy enough to provide each of us wit’ a pallet when they realise they can charge a bit more.’

‘Oh well, if it makes you happy, then we’ll continue to say I’m a family friend, helping you to search for your nephews,’ Brendan had said easily. ‘Good thing it’s getting towards summer, you know, ’cos if it were cold I reckon we’d be glad enough to cuddle up under the same blanket.’

Maeve had snorted but vouchsafed no reply, and they continued on their way. Though he always vowed he never slackened his pace to suit hers, Maeve knew that Brendan did just that. But with the children only a couple of days ahead, both were determined to walk as fast as they could and to continue walking well into the long evenings. ‘For as you say, they don’t know we’re after them,’ Brendan reminded Maeve, as dusk deepened that night. ‘And one good thing about this country is that the cart has got to keep to the tracks. We can cut corners by goin’ cross-country, but they won’t be able to do that because hills and valleys would be dangerous for the caravan. How do you fancy walking all night?’

They were making their way along a leafy lane and the sun was already sinking in the west. It was deserted country so far as human habitation was concerned, so it might be quite a while before they came across a farmhouse, or even a cottage where they might ask shelter for the night. Yet already she was tired. Her crutch arm ached abominably, as did her left leg, but she was determined not to slow Brendan up, not even if it kills me, she vowed to herself, plodding on.

‘Well, alanna? Shall us walk all the night?’

Maeve glanced up at the face above her own; was he joking, or did he honestly intend to keep going right through the hours of darkness? ‘Sure and if you’re set on walking all night I’ll keep up wit’ you, so I will,’ she said. ‘Only when morning comes, I dare say we’ll want nothing more than a good sleep, and no one won’t give us a bed during daylight.’

Brendan looked down at her and she saw his grin spreading with some relief; so he had been codding her after all and had no more intention of walking all night than of pretending they were man and wife so they could share a bed. He was a real joker and she supposed that this fact had made it easier for them to remain on good terms, for when she grew desperately tired towards the end of a day she also grew cross, quick to snap out an answer, quicker to argue and contradict, even when she knew perfectly well that Brendan was right. But he was chuckling, his glance mocking. ‘Eh, you’re a grand, brave little girl, so you are, but I could tell you anything and you’d swallow it hook, line and sinker, like a trout jumping for a mayfly.’ He began to laugh again, then sobered suddenly. ‘But I know this part of the country from a visit I made here years ago, and I’m tellin’ you we could tramp ten miles and not find a place to rest our heads. Only ’tis a fine night, so it is; what say we make ourselves a nest when we reach that woodland ahead? I know how to make a shelter from thin branches, moss, dead leaves and the like. We’ll be snug enough in there while it’s dark, and can set out at dawn, long before most folks is up. But how’s the food lasting out? I don’t want to see you starve.’

‘If we could find a stream, I could fill the water bottles and mebbe you could kindle a fire so’s I could make a hot drink,’ Maeve said longingly. She missed a hot cup of tea more than anything else. ‘And there’s soda bread and some farm butter, so we shan’t starve.’

‘Right, then I’ll start making a shelter at once,’ Brendan said briskly, as they reached the trees. ‘It’ll be our first night in the open, but I dare say not our last, for we’ll get on quicker if we leave as soon as we wake.’

‘I’ll fetch wood for a fire,’ Maeve said eagerly; it would be bliss to lie down, even on the hardest ground, to ease the ache in her left leg. And the thought of camping out in the open air made their trip seem more of an adventure than ever. She was looking forward to getting inside the shelter which Brendan was building, though she knew that the only blanket in her possession was a thin and skimpy affair. But then the fire crackled up and she perched Brendan’s old tin billy-can, filled with water from the stream they had crossed a short while before, on top of the flames, and presently the two of them sat by the fire, sipping tea and eating buttered soda bread, whilst around them the small sounds of the night were carried to them by a gentle breeze. The fire crackled and sank, a sleepy bird twittered, a hunting owl hooted a soft warning, and, far off, a vixen screeched.

When the last morsel of food was eaten, Brendan showed her inside his shelter, his pride obvious. He had floored the place with dry bracken, over which he had spread his own blanket, and now he indicated that Maeve should climb inside before him, keeping a good foot of distance between them. He had arranged their knapsacks in place of pillows and the two of them lay down, a little self-consciously, and prepared for sleep. Maeve was snug enough wrapped in her blanket, but presently began to feel guilty; she really ought to share her covering with her companion. After all, if they could share the shelter, and the bracken couch, why should they not share their covering as well? She said as much in a shy whisper, but it seemed that Brendan was already fast asleep and, as he had said, it was a warm night. Maeve cuddled down once more and very soon fell asleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Nick was examining the traps which he had set the night before whilst Kitty rifled through the beech mast in search of acorns, for their latest acquisition – stolen, of course – was a little fat porker. Kitty had come across him a few days before when he had strayed away from his mother. He had followed Kitty back to the caravan where Granny had immediately seized him, ordered Nick to construct a pen for him, and told them that they would remain in this particular clearing for a few days until the bonaveen grew used to them; only then would they move on.

Kitty had realised, with a sinking heart, that this meant sharing the caravan at night-time with the pig, whom she had christened Percy. She had been brought up to believe pigs were smelly creatures, but Percy was clearly an exception to this particular rule for he smelt of milk and grass, and even of the acorns he so loved. The only real disadvantage to having him in the caravan was his extreme friendliness and excessive love of the human race. He insisted upon sleeping as close as possible to either Kitty or Nick, although he apparently did not consider Granny a human being at all and seemed to avoid her by instinct, as if he knew that when she looked at him she saw bacon, sausages, hams and chitterlings.

Kitty would not have minded Percy’s proximity had he not also woken as soon as light touched the sky and begun to wander about, treading indiscriminately with his extraordinarily sharp little hooves on any hand, foot or indeed face which protruded from the blanket. Tommy he regarded as a brother pig, and constantly nuzzled up to him or followed him around. Tommy had tried spitting, swearing and lashing out at the piglet, though always with sheathed claws, but this had availed him nothing. The only way to be sure that he was beyond Percy’s reach was to scale a tree, and this he had frequently done, squatting in the branches like some furry but furious owl, and ignoring Percy, who would stand on his hind legs with his front legs resting on the trunk whilst he squealed at the cat to come down.

So now, Kitty was filling her bag with last autumn’s acorns, and picking large handfuls of dried grasses whenever she came across them. Percy would eat most things but he drew the line at hay, so the dried grasses were for Tugger. He often wore a nosebag, but the grain which usually filled it was running short, so until autumn came and it was possible to steal wheat, corn and barley he would have to make do with hay.

They had been pressing deeper into the wood, for Nick had laid his traps with care, each one near some obvious landmark so he could find it again. Now, however, he turned to Kitty with a puzzled frown, holding up an empty trap. ‘That’s real odd, Kit. It’s the first time since Granny taught me how to set a snare that there’s been nothing in any one of them.’ He glanced cautiously around him, as though expecting to see a trap thief lurking behind every tree. ‘Well, there are only two more traps left unvisited, and they’re both deeper in the trees. I wonder . . .’

‘What do you wonder?’ Kitty asked curiously, as they went further into the wood. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the sort of place where you find rabbits and such. Perhaps you’d have been better to set your traps nearer the fringe of the wood, instead of so deep in.’

‘I thought that, but you must admit Granny knows all about traps. Because this was our first time in this particular camping spot she came out wit’ me herself last night. Don’t you remember? She showed me the best runs, even told me I’d find a blaze on every tree close by where the tinkers had found an animal run . . .’ Nick stopped speaking. ‘Oh, be Jaysus! What a fool I am! What fools we both are! If I’m right, I’m after thinkin’ we’ve been tricked. We’re two babes in the wood, and if we’re covered up wit’ nothing but leaves by mornin’ . . . come on, run!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Kitty panted, as the pair of them began to dodge back and forth between the trees. ‘Nick, you’re going in the wrong direction, I’m certain of it; the clearing’s more to our left. If we’d been heading towards it, we would have been able to see the caravan by now.’

Kitty was right, and the children might have taken even longer to find the clearing they had left had it not been for Tommy, who came wandering through the trees at that moment. ‘Hello, Tommy,’ Nick said breathlessly, bending down to rub the cat behind the ears. ‘Which way is home, old feller?’

As though he understood, Tommy turned straight round, and in a very short time had led them out of the wood and into the clearing, where Kitty stopped short, a hand flying to her mouth. She had guessed that Nick thought Granny had deliberately encouraged him to set the traps deep in the wood because she was trying to get rid of them, and now she saw he had been right. The clearing had been vacated in a hurry, for the ashes of the fire still glowed red, though of the cooking pot which had stood amongst the embers there was no sign. Kitty looked round wildly; surely Granny would have left their personal possessions? But there was no sign of Nick’s knapsack, or her own bag. The stout piece of canvas which they had rigged up on wet nights had been rolled up beneath the caravan, so Kitty supposed, sadly, that it would not have occurred to Granny to leave that for them. But it was clear that the old woman had simply abandoned them, just as Nick had feared she would.

‘But we can follow the cart tracks,’ she said eagerly, pointing to the marks in the dust, for it had not rained for several days. ‘But – how did she manage, Nick? We didn’t leave Tugger harnessed up; she would have had to catch him, back him between the shafts, take the cooking pot into the van, and round up Percy. How on earth could she possibly have done all that in such a short time?’

Nick shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it’s the first thing I’ll ask her when we catch her up,’ he said grimly. ‘C’mon, Kitty, because if we’re going to eat tonight we’ll have to find the cart within the next hour or so. She won’t walk by Tugger’s head – she’ll drive him hell for leather until she reaches some spot where she can hide up.’

He set off at a smart pace, but though Kitty followed him obediently she soon began to giggle and presently had to stop, a hand to her aching side, to have her laugh out.

‘Janey mack, whatever’s got into you?’ Nick howled. ‘There’s nothing to laugh at, you daft girl. Why
is
you laughing, anyway?’

‘At the thought of Granny driving hell for leather, like someone in a cowboy fillum,’ Kitty said breathlessly, mopping streaming eyes. ‘Think of poor old Tugger even trying to trot or to canter, when a walk is all we’ve ever seen him do.’

Nick grinned reluctantly, but very soon neither of them was laughing, for Granny had indeed got a long way ahead, and the sun was low in the sky. In no time at all, dusk would be upon, and then they might easily miss the caravan if Granny had hidden it well.

In fact, had it not been for Tommy, they might have walked into a veritable wasps’ nest, for as they rounded a bluff the cat stopped short, gazing ahead of him with ears pricked up, and then looking up at the two children as though he were actually saying: ‘Can you hear that noise? What does it mean? I don’t like the sound of it at all, at all!’