Fields of Home (10 page)

Michael decided to throw open all the doors and let the horses run free, and hope they wouldn’t panic and injure themselves. He ran from one door to another, pulling back the heavy iron bolts and flinging open the doors.

Glengarry was covered in sweat and thrashing at her door, trying to get out. In a far corner, Morning Boy rolled his eyes in terror. The mare had given herself a few knocks, and, confused with pain and fear, was making the situation worse for both herself and her foster foal. Michael realised that if she got out she would just gallop till she dropped or batter herself against anything that got in her way. But what would happen to the foal then?

‘Get me a halter, and the canvas one for the foal,’ Michael shouted, hoping that Brendan had recovered enough to help him. Seconds later the boy was back with them. Slipping off his shirt, Michael climbed over the door, balancing on top of it as he tried to avoid Glengarry’s hooves. With the halter over his shoulder, Michael reached up for the mare’s head, surprising her when he flung his shirt over her nose and across her eyes, blocking out the sight of the pandemonium around her. A second later Michael had slipped the halter on her.

‘Open the door, Brendan,’ he yelled.

He held firmly onto the mare, who reared up and
tried to kick away from him. Michael struggled to hold her as she bucked, but once he got her outside the stable she allowed him to lead her across the yard. Brendan ran over and opened the paddock gate to let her in, then closed it behind them. Glengarry was safe.

The two boys ran back to the stable for the foal. Michael slipped the familiar canvas halter over the foal’s head and began to pull the terrified young horse outside. The colt jerked backwards, careering into the red-hot door. He started to jump and kick as he felt the burning wood scorch his side, singeing his skin, and Michael and Brendan barely managed to hold him. But out in the yard they finally calmed him down and were able to coax him into the paddock and reunite him with Glengarry.

By the time Toss came to the burnt-out stables searching for them, Michael and Brendan had saved most of the horses – many of them had simply disappeared, galloped off to God knows where, and would have to be rounded up tomorrow. The two lads had doused the flames in the harness room and prevented it from being destroyed. But the haybarn was gone, and the carriage-house all but ruined.

‘Good God!’ shouted Toss, his eyes raking across the scene of destruction. ‘There’s no way the flames could have spread here from the house. This fire is a deliberate act, carried out by some blackguard,’ he
said, narrowing his eyes.

Michael and Brendan nodded miserably, the boss voicing their own inner thoughts. The burning of Castletaggart House and stables was definitely no accident. And Michael had his suspicions.

* * *

Michael watched as the house continued to burn. This was the beginning of the end of a way of life. The air was heavy with the smell of burning timber and plaster, a choking, thick, all-enveloping sensation that filled your nostrils and mouth till it lay heavy in the very pit of your stomach.

Castletaggart House glowed livid red, its gaping, empty windows touched with a raging blaze of colour. Flames danced and jeered through the roof, bursting from all the tall chimneys. No buckets of water, no fire-wagon, no chain of human fire-fighters could stop it now as the fire completed its joyful victory.

The large hall where kind old Lady Buckland had been waked, where the Castletaggart hunt had met, where visitors had called to pay their respects, was now a huge, open, gaping, pain-filled mouth as the old house lay dying.

Those who had helped gave up only when Lord Henry called a halt. Defeated, he walked slowly down the line of helpers. ‘It’s no use, my friends! We can do
no more!’ His broad face was reddened from the heat, and there were dark shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.

The maids and cook and many of the other staff began to sob as the buckets were dropped and the pump stilled. A hush fell over them all while the fire raged on, consuming everything in front of it.

In total silence, Rose Buckland and her mother stood like two ghosts, watching their home being destroyed.

* * *

Noticing a flurry of noise, Michael became aware of the arrival of yet more tenants. They held themselves apart under some huge chestnut trees, watching. Michael couldn’t see them clearly, but he thought he could make out Peadar amongst them.

Then a carriage and two horses turned up along the avenue and Michael recognised Philip Delahunt, a friend of the master’s. Grim-faced, Mr Delahunt drew up in front of the house. Michael ran forward, offering to hold the horses.

‘Good God! How on earth did this happen?’ Mr Delahunt asked, stepping down. ‘Where are Henry and the family?’ Michael pointed out the family to him.

Philip Delahunt had a gruff manner and was not one for idle chit-chat. He stood for about five minutes watching the house, then strode down to join Lady
Buckland and Rose on the lawn. He was obviously arguing with them. Soon Lord Henry joined in the conversation, the result of which was that the ladies walked slowly to the carriage with Mr Delahunt.

Suddenly, a lone voice called from under the chestnut trees: ‘Burn them out!’

Lady Buckland raised her head and tightened the belt of her dressing-gown around her. She tilted her chin proudly, and through barely open lips muttered, ‘Rose! Don’t say one word!’

Rose swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears, but she obeyed, following her mother into the carriage.

‘Where is Felicia?’ asked Lady Buckland, her voice quivering.

‘She’s over there,’ said Michael, pointing to the young girl, who was marching in her nightclothes towards the chestnut trees, her auburn hair loose. Michael chased through the crowds after her.

Felicia stopped in front of the group under the trees. Standing there wild-eyed, in her white flowing cotton nightgown with her pale skin and wild hair, she looked for all the world like a banshee.

‘I heard what you said!’ she screamed. ‘I know what you did!’

Michael grabbed her by the elbow. ‘Come on, Miss Felicia, you’ll catch your death. Your mother and Miss Rose and Mister Delahunt are all waiting for you.’

‘I hate you!’ she yelled, ignoring him. ‘Each and every one of you! Keep your stinking dirty cabins. You’ve destroyed the finest house in the county. My father is a good man – he’s done his best for all of you, and this is how you pay him back!’

‘Please, Miss!’ begged Michael, tugging at her. The eleven-year-old girl looked fit to collapse.

‘Go back to England!’ someone muttered.

Felicia stopped for a second as if she had been shot. ‘I was born in that front room there.’ She pointed towards the house. ‘I am as Irish as any of the rest of you. But you don’t care about that. If we go away who will you blame then? I’ll tell you what’ll happen.’ She laughed hysterically. ‘You’ll all fight among yourselves, that’s what my father says. You’ll fight and kill each other one by one, that’s what you’ll do. Each and every one of you can go to hell. See if we care!’

The crowd was silent as she turned away from them.

‘I’m cold, Michael.’ She shivered.

Michael didn’t know what to think as he helped the angry young girl up to the waiting arms of her mother and sister.

‘I’m so sorry for all that’s happened,’ he said, taking a deep breath. But the three women seemed not to hear him. The carriage turned, the wheels skidding on the gravel, and they drove off down the avenue and away from Castletaggart House.

CHAPTER 12

Partings and Promises

CASTLETAGGART HOUSE BURNED FOR HOURS
, the huge beams still smouldering when daylight came. Finn lay across the bottom step in front of the door, guarding the house despite the heat and sounds that rumbled from inside.

Someone had arrived with clothes for Lord Henry, and he marched around the outside of the building engrossed in serious conversation with Philip Delahunt, his manager George Darker, and two more of his acquaintances. Toss had told him about the stables, but Lord Henry seemed unable to take in the news.

The furniture and books and possessions that had survived had been lifted onto carts and taken off to be put in storage.

The parlour maids, the cook, the kitchen staff, the tutor, Bernard the butler – all sat on the grass,
exhausted. Michael hunkered down too, and leant against a beech tree, stretching out his legs and listening to the wind rustle through the leaves. He was so tired he felt that if he closed his eyes he would sleep forever. He thought of Morning Boy and his mother Ragusa, and of all the horses he’d cared for here, of all the good times he’d had since he first came to work in the big house, and how proud he’d been of his first proper job and the chance to work with such magnificent horses. Every day he’d ridden past this house admiring its beauty, its solid strength, wondering what the rooms were like inside. It was a world apart. At times perhaps he did envy it, but always there had been a respect.

The old house groaned as the whole back section came crumbling to the ground. Tears filled Michael’s eyes as he thought of all the good times a house like that must have had.

‘What are you snivelling about?’ Toss stood in front of him, legs apart.

Michael wiped his nose on the sleeve on his smoke-soaked vest, swallowing hard. ‘The house, Toss. Honest to God, I’ll miss the house – seeing it, ye know,’ he replied.

With a strange ferocity, Toss almost punched him. ‘You want to cry, Michael O’Driscoll? Then cry over this, the land. This land can feed our horses, feed our
cows, give us a rich crop to harvest. What do ye think will happen the land now when the landlords go? It’ll be townies and middle-men that will decide and fight over it. Half the people you see around you will be off their land in a week or two. Irish men will fight Irish men. Just like the famine that spread amongst us, this fire – this fire, I’m telling you, will spread across the land. Things will never be the same.’

Michael was puzzled. What was Toss on about? He must have had a drop of whiskey or something. It was strange, but Miss Felicia had said something similar.

‘There’s work to be done, Michael!’ Toss said sharply. ‘The horses need us. You’re to get back to work.’

Unprotesting, Michael got to his feet. Taking a last look at the smouldering shell of the big house, Michael walked back down towards the paddocks.

* * *

It was two days before Lord Henry appeared back on the estate, arriving in Mr Delahunt’s trap.

Toss made the grooms and stable lads line up. No one had had much to eat or drink or a chance to sleep, so that they all looked rough and dishevelled. Lord Henry himself looked ten years older and seemed distant.

‘My good men, I wish to thank you all for the Trojan
efforts you made on Tuesday night, they are very much appreciated.’ He coughed, his eyes glancing across the fenced paddocks and the burnt-out stables and coming to rest on Old Tom’s stall. ‘The overall loss has been huge – enormous – as you can imagine.’

‘You can rebuild the house, your lordship, rebuild the stables,’ murmured Pat, hope in his voice.

His words hung in the still air.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Lord Henry slowly. ‘My family and I propose to move to our house in London; there is also a small holding in Suffolk which my uncle left me a few years ago. I’m afraid Castletaggart House will not be rebuilt, at least not by me.’

‘But what about our jobs? What about the horses?’ shouted Liam Quigley.

‘Well, that’s what I was coming to, my good man. I’m afraid I will be unable to continue your employment. I will no longer need hunters or want to continue breeding racehorses here in Ireland.’

Michael’s head was reeling. Now he had no job, no place to stay.

‘My family and I would like to thank you all for your many loyal years of service,’ continued the landlord. ‘My good friend Philip Delahunt has agreed to buy a few ponies and some of the workhorses – he has no interest in racing, unfortunately. The rest of the stock will be sold off or disposed of in due course. Toss, may
I have a word with you?’

Lord Henry took Toss aside for a few minutes while they all stood in silence, waiting. At last Lord Henry returned to address them again.

‘I wish each and every one of you good luck in finding new positions,’ he said formally. ‘Mr Byrne here will provide you with good references. I believe that there are wages due to some of you. No doubt you will realise I am hardly flush with cash at the present time, but I do promise to try and recompense you for your loyalty and work as soon as I am able.’

Shaking Toss’s hand, the landlord turned around to return to the trap.

Michael’s head was full of questions, about his job, his work, his future, but his deepest concern at the moment was for Morning Boy and Glengarry, both recovering in the last paddock. Forgetting himself, Michael chased after Lord Henry.

‘Excuse me, sir! What about the mare Glengarry and Morning Boy?’

Lord Henry stopped.