Rainbow's End (56 page)

‘Well, we’ll see who’s right in a few weeks, when Garv comes saunterin’ back, sayin’ he’s had enough of farmin’, so he has, and expectin’ you to dance attendance on him again,’ Seamus said rather acidly.

‘True,’ Aisling said absently. ‘Now you tek the handcart back to the Iveagh market an’ then come home for a bite to eat afore you start work. I’ll go round to the Brownes’ place an’ see if Ticky’s comin’ home for breakfast.’

Ticky had spent the previous night with his pal, Joey, so that he would not be disturbed by the leaving preparations next day, and Aisling guessed that he would be eager to get back to his own home and find out how the trip to the station had gone. Indeed, he had begged to be allowed to accompany them, but his mother had decided that it was too early for the child to be up, so Mrs Browne’s invitation for Ticky to share Joey’s bed had been gratefully received.

‘Right,’ Seamus said. ‘And anyway, it’s grateful I am to the girl for persuadin’ Garv to go wit’ them. It’ll give Trixie an’ me a chance to be alone for a change. I’ll see you later, Mammy.’

As the train wound its slow way across the Irish countryside, Deirdre sat with her nose all but glued to the window, knowing that this was an experience she would never forget if she lived to be a hundred. What she was seeing, as the small stations ambled by, was a landscape and a way of life which was entirely foreign to her – and was as entrancing as only new and foreign things can be.

The countryside was in blossom, with every tree and hedge breaking into tender new leaf, the hawthorn a mass of foaming white, the apple trees pink, the ground beneath the branches of each small copse misty with bluebells. She saw tiny cob cottages, children in ragged clothing playing in the dust, other children toiling in the fields. She saw ducks on ponds, pigs in sties, cattle and sheep in fields, as well as rabbits, quietly grazing on upland meadows, a red fox stopping half-way across a field to gaze with startled eyes at the great, steam-belching monster roaring by and horses, mules and donkeys by the score. The train stopped at Kildare, Portlaoise, Roscrea, Nenagh, as well as a dozen other, smaller stations, and passengers came on board or disembarked, calling to each other, laughing, joking.

And Deirdre loved it all. It was so peaceful, the people themselves seeming slower moving, softer spoken, than either their Dublin counterparts or the folk that Deirdre had left behind in Liverpool. A keen observer, it soon occurred to her that faces were different in a more basic sense too. Cheek-bones were broader, eyes, often set wide apart, calmer, and the pace of those walking through the streets and across country platforms seemed more leisurely, as though there was no particular rush. If you got there tomorrow instead of today, would anyone die because of it? She saw the country people working hard, sometimes very hard, but she did not see them hurrying. She saw brooks half hidden by hazels and willows, fields where young crops were already well grown, half-ruined castles and stately manor houses, as well as the tiny farms crouching in the lee of the gentle hills, and cabins where hens and pigs, unkennelled, wandered in and out of the family’s living accommodation.

And then she saw mountains. ‘What’s them?’ she said to Garvan, who was sitting beside her, staring out every bit as hard as she. ‘Them hills?’

‘They’ll be the Arra mountains,’ Garvan said. ‘We’re nearly in Limerick . . . best be gettin’ our t’ings together.’

‘Cripes, the time’s gone quick,’ Deirdre said. ‘How far is it to Ennis from Limerick, Garv?’

‘A fair way,’ Garvan admitted. ‘But there’s a bus. We’ll be catchin’ that.’

‘You know very well, Dee,’ her brother put in rather reproachfully from the seat opposite. ‘You moithered Ellen half to death until she’d gone over the journey wi’ us five or six times. It’s train to Limerick, bus to Ennis, then another bus to Corofin, an’ mebbe a pony-cart from there to the McBride place.’

‘I know, really,’ Deirdre said, grinning. ‘But I keep wantin’ to hear it all over again. Can you realise we’re here, Donny? Actually in Ireland, near Limerick, an’ gettin’ closer to the Burren by the minute?’

‘Yes, just about,’ her twin was saying prosaically as the train began to slow. ‘Look lively, everyone . . . what’s the solicitor’s name again?’

Deirdre giggled. ‘You moithered Ellen a thousand times, askin’ her that,’ she said, in a good imitation of Donal’s own censorious tone five minutes earlier. ‘You’re as excited as meself, Donal Docherty, so don’t go pretendin’ to be so high an’ mighty! Come on, everyone, the train’s stoppin’, it’s stoppin’! We’ve reached Limerick.’

After that, time seemed fairly to whizz past. They found the lodging house which Mr Donovan, the solicitor dealing with their case, had told them was clean, reasonable and friendly. Ellen rang the bell and they were ushered into a neat parlour and welcomed by a fat, friendly woman called Mrs O’Rourke, who showed them the simple bedrooms she had reserved for them and explained that they might sit in the parlour, but would take their meals in the dining-room, which was adjoining the kitchen, so that the food did not have a chance to get cold, as she put it.

They left their baggage in their rooms, cleaned themselves up after the journey – Deirdre and Donal had managed to collect more than their fair share of smuts – and set off for the solicitor’s office. Messrs Donovan and McCready occupied the first floor of an office above a hardware shop and they soon found themselves being shown to hard wooden chairs before a very large desk behind which sat a very small man, with twinkling eyes and pince-nez spectacles.

He beamed at them. ‘You’re very welcome, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said as soon as they were settled. ‘Now I believe you were told by my colleague in Liverpool that you had inherited two farms. Strictly speaking, you only inherit the McBride place because the other farm still belongs to the Feeneys, should any of their descendants ever turn up. But the McBrides have been farming the Feeneys’ place on their behalf ever since they left and for all practical purposes you will continue to do the same. Now, Mrs Nolan, since you’re
in loco parentis
I’ll address myself to you, but I’m sure the young people . . .’ he smiled at the twins, sitting forward on their chairs’ . . . will let me know if they disagree with what I’ve said, or simply don’t understand it.’

Ellen blushed – she still found being referred to as ‘Mrs Nolan’ a bit odd, but nice. ‘I’m sure they will,’ Ellen said, sounding a trifle rueful. ‘Neither my brother nor my sister, Mr Donovan, is in the habit of letting themselves be overawed by their surroundings. Now I’ll just show you our . . . umm . . . identifying documentation, I think the other solicitor called it.’

She handed the bundle of papers her mother had given her to Liam, who stood up and was in the act of handing it, in his turn, to the solicitor, when Mr Donovan exclaimed sharply. He stood up and stared at Liam’s hand, outstretched and with the papers in his grasp. ‘Young man . . . that ring! Where did you get it?’

‘Me mother-in-law gave it to me wife, so she could give it to me,’ Liam said, considerably startled by this strange question. ‘It’s an old ring . . . her mammy’s property, I believe. Why, sir?’

‘May I see it?’ Mr Donovan held out his own hand and took the ring as Liam slid it, not without difficulty, over his knuckle and dropped it into the other man’s palm. ‘Well – this is really the most extraordinary thing! How I wish Mr McBride could be here now!’

‘Why?’ Deirdre asked baldly, standing up herself and peering first at the solicitor’s face and then at the ring in his hand. ‘It’s only an ole signet ring, Mam said. Our grandad had it from his mam and Gran gave it to Mam when Grandad died, an’ then Mam give it to our dad, only he died . . . What’s ‘strordinary about it?’

‘It’s the engraving,’ Mr Donovan said almost reverently. He held the ring out so they could all see the curious, spiky circle engraved upon it where, usually, initials would have been plain. ‘If you look carefully . . .’

‘It’s a dandelion, ain’t it?’ Deirdre cut in impatiently. ‘Or some such thing.’

‘No, alanna, it’s no such thing, though I admit it looks a little like. It’s initials. It’s capital Ms, engraved in a circle, and the heir of the McBride house always wears such a ring. In fact, Fergus McBride passed his ring, in his will, to your friend Bill McBride who was buried wearing it, since it was by then generally agreed that the McBride family had died out. But Fergus’s ring was a comparatively new one. Do you know why? Can you guess?’

‘I ’opes it weren’t stole by one of us ancestors,’ Donal said with considerable foreboding. ‘That ain’t it, is it, mister?’

Mr Donovan laughed. ‘No indeed, me laddo. The story, as I was told it, was that the elder brother of your friend Bill McBride was betrothed to a young woman by the name of Grainne Feeney. But due to the sad circumstance of his being badly injured during a tempest of unusual ferocity, the young couple were unable to marry. Instead, when they said their farewells, he gave her the ring he wore on his finger. And so far as is known, that ring has never been seen in Ireland since,’ he finished.

‘And . . . and that is it?’ Deirdre said faintly, pointing to the ring on his palm. ‘The ring that William McBride gave to Grainne? Bill telled us the story, Mr Donovan, it were ever so sad, but of course we din’t know our mam had a gold ring at all, apart from her own weddin’ one. Then does it mean we’s really the descendants of Grainne Feeney? Is that what it means?’

‘I truly think so,’ Mr Donovan said gravely. He turned to Ellen. ‘Mrs Nolan, what did your mother tell you about her grandmother? Did she ever mention a name, or how she came to possess this ring?’

‘She told us when she gave it to me for Liam that her grandmother had come to Liverpool from Ireland because she had been widowed in some . . . some natural disaster,’ Ellen said, having thought for a moment. ‘She said that her gran’s first child took the name of Flanaghan, though he was not, in fact, the child of the marriage that her grandmother later made. Could . . . could it be that my great-grandmother ran away because she was expecting William McBride’s child? Was that why he gave her the ring?’

‘I doubt whether we shall ever know that for sure, my dear,’ the solicitor said quietly. ‘But it was certainly what Bill and his brother believed, and they believed it because, in his turn, their father thought it was what had happened. The old man felt deeply guilty that he had allowed the girl to go, knowing that she had been promised to his son, without at least offering financial help. That was why he took over the Feeney holding, when it became clear that the family were never going to return. He always banked the money he made from it – for Burren land, when properly farmed, produces some of the finest sheep; both their wool and their meat are top quality – so there will be money enough to set the holding to rights once you’ve got the time to work on it.’ He came round the desk and gave Liam back the ring, then returned to his seat, slowly shaking his head. ‘If only Bill were here and could see you all and know that his hunch had been right, that he had found the Feeneys after all! It would have made him very happy.’

‘Perhaps he does know, mister,’ Deirdre said. An’ if we mek a go of it it’ll be thanks to Bill, I’m tellin’ you. He started us off makin’ gardings, growin’ things, an’ he telled Donal about farmin’ – that was what started me brother off wantin’ to rear sheep. He took us over the water an’ showed us what a good lowland farm should be like, an’ he were always on about beasts an’ the country ways. He telled us a lot, eh, Donal?’

‘He did that,’ Donal agreed. ‘He were a great gun, were Bill.’

Mr Donovan smiled and nodded. ‘Aye, and he improved the place no end during his time on it,’ he agreed. ‘He was a better farmer than his elder brother, no doubt about that. But now to your next move, for you must see that I’m completely satisfied as to your right and title to both properties. You’ve booked yourselves into a lodging for tonight?’

‘We went to the place you recommended as soon as the bus dropped us off, so we did,’ Liam said at once. ‘The lady’s mekin’ us a hot meal for five o’clock.’

‘That’s grand. I’ve arranged for someone from the McBride place to meet you off the bus at Corofin in the morning with a horse and cart to take you to the farms. Will that suit? I think, now, that the sooner you reach your property the better.’

The horse and cart wound its way alongside a small stream, the driver gesturing ahead of them with his whip and turning round to address his passengers seated along both sides of the wagon on the polished wooden seats. ‘Sure an’ isn’t dat de prettiest sight now? ’Tis a fine house, indade – more like a manor dan a farm. What do ye t’ink of it, eh? Mr Donovan was after tellin’ me dat it was your great-great-somet’ing-or-other owned it, an’ youse is the heirs.’ He sighed deeply. ‘’Tis lucky you are, I’m t’inkin’.’

But the Nolans and Dochertys were too busy gazing at the house crouched at the foot of the gentle hill. They were at the McBride place at last. A solid house, built foursquare to withstand the worst of the weather, with the hill at its back and a good, thick wood of oak, ash and beech at its front. It was tiled and some sort of creeper softened the rosy old bricks, and from here they could see that at the back were a range of solid outbuildings built to form a square around a courtyard, stables, dairy, shippon . . . everything a farm needed. There was even a flower garden in the front, they could see the neatly planted beds from here.

‘How far’s the Feeney place?’ Deirdre said, looking around her. ‘I know it’s by the stream because when Bill told us the story, Grainne got her water from the stream; they didn’t have a well nor nothin’.’

‘T’is a fair step afoot,’ their driver said. ‘But in the wagon I can have ye ‘dere in the twinkling of a bedpost, so I can.’

‘Right,’ Ellen said, speaking for all of them. ‘We’ll go right now, if it’s all right with you.’

It was a lovely afternoon. Birds sang, a gentle breeze blew and the long golden rays of the sun would have made most things appear beautiful. But the Burren as they reached it was in bloom, which was enough to stun anyone into silence, and as they drove along, they simply stopped talking and stared.