Celestial Land and Sea (22 page)

"So you are here to request that I set your son free," Elizabeth continued. "However, I do not believe that it would be a wise decision. My throne is much safer while this Irish brute is locked away. Wouldn't you agree, my Lords?" She didn't turn to face Lords Bingham and Burghley as they agreed with her in unison. Instead she kept her eyes locked firmly upon Grace.

Grace, in turn, did not look away from Elizabeth. She was transfixed by her wig of rich red hair, large enough to hide a thousand secrets, and the giant skirt of her dress which must have made it nearly impossible for her to walk.

Elizabeth was silent now. Grace took this as her cue to speak. She swallowed to clear her throat, straightened her posture in preparation for addressing Queen Elizabeth I. "Your Majesty, Tibbott's actions may be reprehensible, but I have come here today to offer an explanation for the behaviour of my clan, and that of the people of Ireland. We are continuously looked down upon, repeatedly spat at and gibed. That much we can endure. Such insults do not affect our ability to survive. However, it is the undermining of our physical conditions which have made it nearly impossible for us to live harmoniously.

"Perhaps the extent of our suffering has not been fully revealed to you, Your Majesty. The force with which we are punished for merely existing is stronger than that with which we are able to cope. We try to stand up, but repeatedly we are pushed to the ground, and that ground we fall onto is diminishing. The reason for Tibbott's revolt was a consequence of further land reduction on the west coast. Lord Bingham has seized another plot, which was being used to grow crops to feed our people. Every time one of your subjects helps himself to our land, we are forced to face further hunger.

"Your men do not pay for what they take, and so we do not have the means of exchanging with other landowners. We are quickly running out of land sufficient for growing food. We have but a few patches of malnourished grass, which must be kept for the cattle to graze. Our animals are weakening as rapidly as our crops are failing. People are becoming ill, and many of them are dying because they do not have the strength to recover.

"Mothers have become too weak to feed their babies, children too fragile to grow and develop. Our men have little strength left to bring in enough fish to sustain our population. I am here today to request that you consider not the way in which my son has behaved, but the reasons why he felt he needed to respond the way that he did. In our time of desperation, we depend on the arrival of change, and this change is something only you can command, Your Majesty."

Grace bit into her lip nervously. Elizabeth remained silent. Grace could feel everybody's eyes upon her. Lords Bingham and Burghley glared at her. Donal and Cathleen, who had remained as motionless as possible, looked at her with hope, Cathleen's eyes streaming with tears. Tibbott had lifted his head just enough so that he was able to look at his mother. He prayed silently that the Queen would find no derision in what had been said. If she did, then the consequences would be dire.

"Mistress O'Malley," Elizabeth finally said, "you speak to me in a manner I find fascinating. It is unusual for one to address me so boldly. If nothing else, I admire your approach."

"Your Majesty, if I may," Lord Bingham interrupted.

"I am not finished, Lord Bingham," she snapped before returning her attention to Grace. "However, I still struggle to see exactly why I should allow your son to go free. How can I be sure that he will not repeat his despicable actions? After what you have done against my people, I must wonder why I should not lock you up with your wretched son and throw away the key!"

Cathleen gasped.

"Your Majesty, I shall not be restrained. I will not hide who I am."

"So many have died at your hands—"

"That has often been beyond my control."

The room returned to silence as Elizabeth paused to think about what had been said. She concentrated on Grace, focusing her attention on her eyes.

At that moment it was as if there was nobody else in the room. A sadness in Elizabeth's eyes reflected in the eyes of Gráinne O'Malley, nad in the eyes of Grace Byrne. In that moment they looked at each other not as opposing figures of authority, but as two women living in a world where they were continuously challenged.
The pain of Elizabeth's own suffering was silent but unmistakable, and it was not hatred and venom that looked back at Grace, but understanding and empathy.

"Perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding. An agreement," Elizabeth finally said. "I will allow young Tibbott to return to Ireland—"

"Yes!" Cathleen was unable to refrain from squealing. Donal held onto her to stop her from running toward Tibbott, who had to force himself to keep looking at the floor. A look of horror had spread across Lord Bingham's face.

"Quiet, please! Allow me to finish. Mistress O'Malley, I shall allow your son to return to Ireland, and Lord Bingham will return to you the land he has most recently confiscated." Grace was sure Bingham was about to weep. "However, I must ask in return that you do something for me." Her request could be absolutely anything, and Grace knew it. "I ask only that you never return to England. This rule also applies to the men under your command, and to anybody with whom you find yourself acquainted. I will cooperate with your request on the condition that you do the same with mine. If I am ever informed of your presence near English soil again, I will have your entire clan put to death. Do we have an agreement?"

Grace considered the offer. She quickly realised that she had to accept it.

"Your Majesty, your proposal is one to which I am happy to agree."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good. Well then, Lord Bingham," she continued to look at Grace as she addressed him, "Release the prisoner!"

There were tears in Bingham's eyes as he began to unchain Tibbott. Elizabeth remained standing in front of her visitors, her lips pressed tightly together. It was a moment Grace knew she would never forget. Never had she imagined she'd be standing in a room with this striking monarch. Her power was undeniable, but her beauty was eternal.

No final words were exchanged between Grace and Elizabeth. Nothing more needed to be said. Between them a recognition had been sealed, an understanding that neither could have predicted. There was just enough time before Grace was led away for Elizabeth to lower her head in a subtle nod. As Grace caught the gesture she bowed, a mark of her own newfound respect for the woman with whom she had presumed to have nothing in common. How wrong she had been! In their final moment together, both women looked at one another and smiled ever so subtly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

S
tanding at the bottom of the hill, Andy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat to keep them warm. He looked unusually casual in jeans, with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He must have only been standing there for two minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed.

Paranoia had started to take hold of him. What if he'd gone to the wrong stop? Perhaps he'd written the time incorrectly. There was still another ten minutes until she was due to arrive, but he couldn't help but fret that he'd messed up somewhere. He had no idea why he was so nervous. There was nothing to worry about, he knew that. It was just that he liked her—really liked her, in fact—and had never felt as happy as he did when he was around her. If his plan was going to work, he needed everything to go just right.

He blew air into his hands and rubbed them together, cursing himself for forgetting his gloves. Had December been this cold last year? Things would warm up when she arrived though—they would be able to start walking to keep the chill off them...

As he turned he saw her. There she was, right on time, heading up the road toward him. She looked radiant, even as the wind reddened the surface of her cheeks. Her hair was tied up, he noticed—a wise decision in this weather. He had always liked the way she wore her hair. It accentuated the features of her face.

"Hello, stranger," she said once she reached him. Her greeting was awkward. She knew it as soon as the words had left her mouth. Was she blushing? She hoped she wasn't.

"Miss Byrne!" he responded just as awkwardly. What was wrong with them? Why were they both so nervous?
"Shall we?"

They entered Hampstead Heath, both walking with their hands clamped in their pockets.

"I'm glad you agreed to walk with me tonight." The area was almost deserted as they had made their way among the trees.

"You are?"

"I've been stuck inside the house all day and desperately needed to get a breath of fresh air," he said. "I swear I was close to going crazy."

"I know how you feel. This is one of my favourite spots to go walking. I can't say I've been to many places as beautiful as this, if any."

"I'm ashamed to say I've never been up here before." They turned the corner and stopped by the lake.

Standing in silence, they admired the way the trees were reflected on the surface of the water. A coot glided along the water, creating a trail of soft ripples behind it.

"The flowers are quite remarkable, aren't they?" Andy commented.

"Which is your favourite?"

"Definitely the blue ones... I couldn't tell you what they're called, of course, but they're very pretty."

Grace grinned. "Do you want to see something even prettier?"

"Even prettier than all this..." Andy tried not to make his flirting obvious, wondering whether Grace knew he was referring to her as much as he was to the Heath.

"Yep."

They walked in silence, side by side, as they continued along through the trees, making their way up the hill. "Here we are!" Grace announced once they'd reached the top.

They stood at the viewpoint as they stared out across London.

"So, what do we have here?" Andy glanced at the information board in front of them that featured a long line of buildings to help with the identification of London's skyline. "Ah yes, the Gherkin. Unmistakable, isn't it? And that over there looks to be the Shard," he said, pointing to a thin building in the distance. "Some of the architecture is wonderful, isn't it?"

"I've always loved the look of St Paul's Cathedral," Grace added. "It's such a wonderful shape, and the colour of the roof is beautiful."

"Where is it from here?"

"If you squint you can see it," she edged closer to him so that her body was slightly pressed against his, "right over there." She pointed to the area where it could be seen.

"I think I see it!" Andy turned to face her as he spoke, his eyes catching hers. They faced each other for a moment before Andy uttered a low cough from the back of his throat, awkwardly shifting his attention back to the view.

Grace took in the panorama of London, transfixed by its vastness. Forever expanding in every direction, there were patches of greenery juxtaposed with industrial chaos. London really was wondrous.

But as she stared in silence the scene started to shift in her mind. The large buildings were replaced with squat single-story structures. Everything turned dark as the air thickened with the haze of coal fires. No longer was her attention in her own time; it had returned to her other reality.

Everything had been so clear in her mind when she'd awoken that morning. The agreement with the Queen had been sealed, and Lord Burghley had escorted them in the carriage back to Thames Street, Tibbott included. He'd watched as they lifted anchor and retreated toward the English Channel, leaving the city behind them.

The crew had managed to stay below deck just as their captain had instructed. It had been Michael's idea, Grace later learned, for them to tell each other stories about their travels, and that had kept them occupied. Everybody was safe. They were all going back home.

The journey back to Clare Island had been safe but slow, and by the time they had reached the halfway point, everybody had been so drained of energy that it was decided that they would take turns being on lookout for invading ships.

Grace had slipped off her saffron dress and her leather boots and slid into bed, eager to rest. The last thing she remembered hearing was Cathleen calling through the door: "Goodnight, Miss Gráinne!"

"Goodnight, Cathleen," she had muttered. She'd closed her eyes and fallen into a deep sleep.

When she awoke in her own room in her own home she felt profoundly disappointed. She sprang out of bed and made for the door at the top of the stairs, but she couldn't see it. She banged on the wall and called out, but it was no use. It was gone.

She made herself a cup of tea and sat down at her desk, unable to stop her mind from running over the previous night's events. At least she assumed it had only been one night; she was struggling to keep up as time had started to blur into one existence. With nothing else to do, she opened her laptop and typed everything she could remember: the dangerous encounter with the
Devil's Orifice
; the look of desperation from the homeless woman as she clutched onto her starving child; the venom in Lord Bingham's eyes; and the unexpected empathy in Queen Elizabeth's.

It took her a long time to realise that she was not writing in third person as she made her notes, but was instead constructing them in first person. It now seemed almost bizarre for her to consider herself to be anybody other than Gráinne O'Malley. She had become so used to the identity that there was no longer anything unnatural about it to her. To leave her behind seemed almost unthinkable.

She continued tapping away, her mind flooded with images of Donal and Cathleen and Tibbott. She could still hear the squawks of the gulls and the lapping of the sea. Beneath her hands she was sure she could still feel the pressing of the ship's wheel as she grasped it. It had all happened so many centuries ago, and yet for Grace it was fresh in her mind.

It was only when Andy had texted her to ask if she'd like to accompany him on a walk that she was able to drag herself back into the twenty-first century. The one part of her mind that had allowed itself to remain as Grace Byrne couldn't refuse his offer. She replied to his message, suggesting they visit Hampstead Heath, and shut down her laptop while saving her notes to be continued later.