Skye O'Malley (56 page)

Polly the kitchen maid, hearing of Harry’s whereabouts from her married sister who lived in the same slum, crept above stairs to find her master. Niall had taken Polly up on his horse ahead of him and, breathless with excitement, she had directed him to where Constanza lived.

Niall was hard put not to become sick when he found his wife, half-delirious with fever, on the floor in a tiny room. She lay on a filthy pallet, the stink of the unemptied chamber pot permeating the room. Even little Polly, raised in the same degree of poverty, gasped with shock.

“ ’Er ’ull be no good to ye,” cackled the old crone who owned the house, “unless o’ course ye likes to swive ’em when they ’alf dead.”

“Close your trap, old hag,” snapped Polly. “We’re taking the lady out of here.”

“Lady, is it? Lady?” screeched the old woman. “She owes me for rent, that one.”

“Where is the man who was with her?” asked Niall.

“ ’Andsome ’Arry? ’E ain’t been around since she got ill. Got ’imself a newer, younger doxy.”

“How much rent is owed?”

The old woman eyed Lord Burke craftily. “A shilling,” she said.

The Irishman reached for his purse, but Polly intervened. “You wouldn’t get a shilling for this room in two years’ time, old hag,” she declared, outraged. “Give her no more than two silver pennies, my lord.”

Instead Niall Burke pulled a half-crown from his purse and handed it to the woman, whose eyes bugged with greed and shock. “This woman was never here, and neither were we,” he said quietly.

The landlady snatched the coin, bit it, and stuffed it into her apron pocket. “I ain’t never seen any o’ yese,” she declared, quickly disappearing from the room.

Niall and Polly got Constanza to her feet. “You’ll ride with her,
lass, and I’ll lead the horse,” he said, thankful for the rainy dark night that would cover their return to the Strand. Niall Burke had long ago tired of feeding the gossip mills of Court. When they finally reached the Burke house the servants had all retired excepting one sleepy stable boy who took the horse off to its stall. Lord Burke carried his unconscious wife up to her rooms, where he and Polly stripped the filthy garments off her thin body. Niall then filled the small oak tub with warm water he and Polly lugged up from the kitchens themselves. They washed her, including her matted, lice-ridden hair. Constanza, half conscious, protested weakly. They hauled her from the tub, toweled her off, put a clean gown on her, and plaited her dried hair into two braids. She was finally tucked into bed.

Back down in the kitchens of the house, Lord Burke emptied the little tub and sat down at the table. Polly rummaged about in the larder and found half a roasted capon. She put it on a wooden trencher with some bread and placed it before her master. She then poured him a goblet of brown October ale, and stood back. But Niall motioned her into the bench opposite him. Tearing off part of the capon breast, he shoved the meat toward her. “Eat up, lass! You’ve worked hard this night. And pour yourself some ale too.”

Shyly, Polly obeyed him, somewhat astounded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“That was a kind thing you did, lass. I might never have found my wife without your help. She’s a very sick woman, Polly. Sick in spirit and body.”

“I never thought a lady would act that way, begging your pardon, my lord.”

He smiled. A curiously innocent little sparrow was Polly. He could have shocked her with tales of great Court ladies all over Europe who whored for one reason or another. “Polly, you seem a bright lass. I’m going to offer you a chance to better yourself, but it will not be easy. I need someone to look after my lady. She can never again be left alone. If I am not with her then someone else must be. She is ill now, but when she gets well she’ll try and cozen you, but you mustn’t let her. Do you think you can do it?”

“Aye, my lord. But there’s one thing you should know. Harry was sometimes my lover too and once when my lady caught us, she … she …” Polly’s face was beet red. “She joined us,” the servant finished with a rush. “I know I can care for her, but I wanted you to know that.”

Niall choked on his ale. Constanza had certainly been inventive.
“Part of caring for Lady Burke will be telling those who ask that she is not strong in mind, Polly.”

“I understand, sir.”

So he had hired Mrs. Tubbs to keep watch by night, and young Polly cared for Constanza during the day. The first doctor engaged was told only that Lady Burke had been abducted and the experience had unhinged her mind. He cupped and bled her, which only weakened her further. Niall sent the physician on his way and brought in a second doctor, this one recommended by Lord Southwood.

The man turned out to be a knowledgeable Moor. He examined Constanza thoroughly, stopping to make notes, clucking sympathetically. At last he went with Lord Burke to a private room. “My lord, your wife is a very sick woman, emotionally and physically. She will need a special diet, rest, sunshine, and medication.” He paused a moment as if weighing something. Then he asked, “Do you have the pox, my lord?”

“God, no!”

“Your wife does.” It was said flatly. “One of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Niall said quietly. “You see, Doctor, my wife is indeed ill. She is a woman for whom one lover is simply not enough. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I do, my lord, and I am sorry. I have heard of such cases. I can treat her symptoms, but unless you can prevent her folly, she will kill herself. Frankly, I am not sure it is not already too late.”

Niall sought his study. He lit no candles but sat quietly by the dancing fire.
Well, Father
, he thought,
I shall not be bringing this wife home to Ireland yet
.

Dr. Hamid returned the next day.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Niall greeted him.

“My lord.”

“Come see me after you have examined Constanza.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Niall sighed. He remained in thought for some time and then became aware that he was not alone.

“My lord?”

“Oh, Doctor. Come into my study and sit down, man. How is Constanza?”

“A bit stronger, but not as well as I hoped for, my lord.”

“Could she travel?”

“Ireland? It would kill her.”

“No, Doctor Hamid. Mallorca. She had expressed a desire to go home. If it is possible, I would grant her wish.”

“The sun would be very good for her, my lord, but she is not yet strong enough for the trip.”

“In a few weeks?”

“It is possible. Yes! In fact, if she knows she is going it will improve her attitude greatly.”

“Then I shall tell her. In the meantime I will go home to Ireland to see my father. I have been gone over four years.”

Niall Burke was on his way home within three days, riding across the verdant stretch of England that brought him to its westernmost port, where he quickly found a ship bound for Ireland.

The first sight of his beloved homeland, the softly undulating green hills, the dramatic, cloud-tossed skies peculiar to Ireland alone, combined with his lengthy absence brought tears to Niall’s eyes. But once the ship had docked and he was on a horse once more, sentiment gave way to sheer eagerness to reach the MacWilliam’s stronghold. He was stunned to find his family expecting him, and wondered how in the world they’d known of his coming. As he approached his home, he saw a figure riding out to meet him, and his heart caught when he recognized his father. The old man had grown thinner and was even frail, Niall noted as his father came closer. But he had not lost any of his fabled authority or proud bearing.

“So you let the O’Malley escape again, and she’s already spawned a son for her new lord,” was his father’s greeting. It was as if Niall had never been away.

“I have a wife now,” he reminded his father, more than a little defensive.

“Another barren field upon which your seed lays fallow. Where is she?”

“I left her in London. She is ill.”

“Humph! I might have guessed as much.”

“Father, I cannot stay. I came because I wanted to see you. Our climate is killing Constanza and because Ireland is no better I am taking her home to Mallorca.”

“Better you bring her here to Ireland to die. Then we can rewed you to a strong Irish girl who’ll give me grandsons. Foreign wenches transplant badly in Irish soil.”

“She will probably die anyway, Father. She misses the sun, and I would have her last days be happy.”

“In that case I’ll see which maidens of good family are available
for marriage. Or perhaps a young widow with sons …” the older man mused.

“Make me no matches, Father!”

“I want my grandchildren about me before I die!”

And so it went between them for the few days of Niall’s visit. On the day of his departure Seamus O’Malley, the Bishop of Connaught, arrived with his two great-nephews, Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty, requesting that Niall escort them to their mother in England. Though the children would slow him down, Niall agreed. He was pleasantly surprised when Seamus O’Malley offered an O’Malley vessel to take them directly to Devon.

“Is my niece happy?” asked the bishop.

“She claims to be,” said Niall sourly, “but then, women are apt to be fickle.”

Seamus O’Malley hid a smile. “You must learn to accept God’s will, my son,” he murmured piously.

Niall Burke bit back the urge to tell the good bishop to go to Hell. “I shall endeavor to pray for patience,” he said with obvious insincerity, and Seamus O’Malley chuckled.

“Can you leave tomorrow, Niall? Skye writes that she is anxious to see these imps of hers. Poor Skye …” He trailed off. There were no words to express what the bishop thought about his niece’s tragedy.

After a moment Niall said, “I can leave tomorrow, though I devoutly pray that this trip aboard an O’Malley vessel will not be as eventful as the last one was.”

Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty proved easy to chaperone. Six and seven, the boys were anxious to see their mother, yet frightened of encountering a woman they barely remembered. This trip was their first away from Ireland, and despite their anxieties they were very excited.

Niall Burke bid the MacWilliam an affectionate farewell. “If you need me, the governor of Mallorca will know where I am,” he said, “and I promise you I’ll come home this time.”

“Good! I’ll not die, my lad, until I see the next generation.”

Niall shot his father a parting grin, then rode off with his two young charges. The few days’ voyage proved uneventful, a time of clear skies and good winds. On the last day they sailed past the Isle of Lundy, across the tidal bar, and up the Torridge River to Bideford. The little O’Flahertys were wide-eyed, having never been in a town before. Openmouthed, they gazed at the activity about them in the bustling port town. Niall, unable to resist indulging them a
little, took them to a delightful riverside inn for cakes and watered wine. He was able to rent two horses, and as it was not quite the noon hour, there was plenty of time to reach Lynmouth Castle. Before they rode off, the innkeeper’s young wife supplied the little party with bread, cheese, and crisp apples. “Boys get hungry,” she said with a cheerful smile. Niall smiled back and mischievously dropped a coin into her bodice. “Buy some blue ribbons to match your eyes,” he answered.

Ewan and Murrough were silent now, more nervous as each clop of the horses hooves brought them closer to their mother. Niall’s thoughts centered on Skye, also. They had parted so bitterly, and it had been his fault entirely. That Constanza’s behavior should have driven him to suspect Skye of immorality! What a fool he’d made of himself! Of course she loved Southwood. It was tragic, for Niall, that her memories of him had only returned
after
she had fallen in love and married. But then, as she had pointed out, had she not been wed, he was. Why had he taken his frustrations out on her? They stopped by a clear stream to rest the horses and eat the simple luncheon that the innkeeper’s wife had pressed on them.

“ ’Tis not like Ireland,” observed Ewan.

“Everything is so neat,” Murrough said. “I want to go home.”

“Now, lads, give it a chance. Your mother is so anxious to see you.”

“What of the
Englishman
she’s married?” asked Ewan. His scorn was barely concealed. Niall’s amusement was great.

“Lord Southwood is a fine gentleman, boys. You’ll like him.”

“We’re not staying here,” continued Ewan. “My brother and I are O’Flahertys of Ballyhennessey, and I’ve my own lands to care for in Ireland. We’ll only visit with our mother.”

“Your mother only recently regained her memory. When she did, her first concern was for you both. You are not to disgrace her in front of the English and let the English say we’re uncouth barbarians.”

“To Hell with the English!” snapped the boy.

“A sentiment I’m inclined to agree with, Ewan O’Flaherty, but nevertheless you will behave yourself and not disgrace the Irish,” replied Niall, cuffing the boy playfully. “Now mount up, lads. If we’re to reach your mother before dark we must ride hard for Lynmouth.”

They had their first view of Lynmouth Castle just before sunset. Situated on a bay between two headland points, the castle faced the Isle of Lundy. The oldest part of the castle was a Saxon round-tower
onto which the next several generations had built. The result was a small but totally charming mixture of Saxon, Norman, Gothic, and Tudor architecture. Below the dark-gray tower the house was pale gray stone, covered in spots with deep-green ivy. Just then the red late-afternoon sun colored its slate-turreted towers and warmed its fields. Slowly the horses clopped across the well-worn oak drawbridge into the castle courtyard. A stable boy hurried out to take their mounts and a servant led them inside the castle.

“I am Lord Burke. I have brought the Countess’s two sons from Ireland,” said Niall.

“This way, my lord. The young masters have been expected though we knew not when you would arrive.”

The footmen led them to the family hall. As they entered the room, two things struck Niall. The room was beautiful, windowed on both sides and facing the sea. And Skye seemed so absolutely right at home in this room, standing by a window, simply gowned in mulberry velvet. Her magnificent blue eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him and the two children. “I’ve brought you your lads, Skye,” he said quietly. “Good evening, Southwood. I hope I may rely on your hospitality tonight.”