house.
Something else must be wrong. I had best go see.
She crawled out from under the currach and set out to find Tom.
* * *
The first sunshine in ages, Tom thought glumly. And I’m trapped here.
‘Here’ was the former nursery at Roaringwater House, fitted out as a schoolroom. At the front of the room Mr Beasley was droning on and on about the twelve Caesars – or was it ten? – it did not matter anyway. They were all dead.
With his forefinger, Tom flicked a dead fly off the table that served as his desk. He yawned. It was late afternoon, the time of day when boys are inclined to grow sleepy over their schoolbooks. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight from the nearest window. Drying ink at the mouth of Tom’s inkpot took on the colours of the rainbow.
Rainbows over the bay .
‘Thomas!’ Mr Beasley said abruptly. ‘Are you paying attention ?’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Then perhaps you would humour me by naming the exports of Ireland to Spain and Portugal. Stand up, please.’
‘Spain and Portugal?’ Tom queried, playing for time.
Beasley nodded.
‘The exports are … er …’ Tom’s brain was racing. He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Pilchards, cod, hake, salmon skins for gloves, beans, iron, linen …’ he rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling, ‘… pipe-staves, butter and tallow. Sir.’ He heaved a sigh of relief and sat down.
There was a knock at the door. Mr Beasley scowled at theinterruption. A moment later Virginia thrust her head into the room. ‘Tom? There is the funniest little girl downstairs, asking for you.’
But she was no longer downstairs. She pushed past Virginia and ran straight to Tom. ‘I’m not funyest and I’m not little!’ she cried, stamping her feet in indignation. ‘Tell her, Tomflynn.’
‘Maura! What brings you here?’
The child noticed Mr Beasley staring at her bare toes. ‘Your eye is crookit,’ she told him. ‘Does it hurt much?’ Before the astonished tutor could respond she said, ‘I’m Tomflynn’s friend, Maura. I want to know if he likes this house better’n me.’
‘I like you and your family better than anybody,’ Tom assured her.
Maura rewarded him with a dazzling smile. Virginia was frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked her brother. ‘Just who is this person, Tom? And what is her family to you?’
‘She told you; they’re my friends.’
‘I see,’ said Virginia, who did not see at all. She bent down until her face was level with Maura’s. ‘I should like to be your friend too.’ She spoke in the too-sweet voice adults commonly use for infants.
Maura regarded her solemnly, then held up two small hands with fingers spread wide. ‘I have this many friends now,’ she informed Virginia. ‘Can’t have more ’til I have more fingers.’
Tom burst into laughter. ‘Did you come all the way here by yourself, Maura, or did Donal bring you?’
Her eyes danced. ‘By myself!’
Tom glanced towards his tutor. ‘A gentleman would walk you home, is that not right, Mr Beasley?’ He extended a hand to the child, who took it with perfect trust. ‘Come now, Maura, the hour is late and we’d best be going.’ Without waiting for permission from anyone, he led her from the room.
Halfway down the front stairs they met Mrs Flynn coming up. When she saw Maura one hand flew to her throat. The other hand gripped the banister until the knuckles were white. ‘Where did you come from?’ she gasped.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mr Flynn Makes a Friend
T here must be many paths by now, thought William Flynn. Paths not visible to the naked eye, yet worn as surely as chariot tracks in the stony roads of Rome. Paths marking my pilgrimages to the doors of the great and grand. Once they were happy enough to see me. Now that I need them, none of them want to know me.
So I drag myself back to Dublin Castle one more time. The Castle swarms with administrators and lawyers and clerks and accountants and hangers-on. I want to
Something else must be wrong. I had best go see.
She crawled out from under the currach and set out to find Tom.
* * *
The first sunshine in ages, Tom thought glumly. And I’m trapped here.
‘Here’ was the former nursery at Roaringwater House, fitted out as a schoolroom. At the front of the room Mr Beasley was droning on and on about the twelve Caesars – or was it ten? – it did not matter anyway. They were all dead.
With his forefinger, Tom flicked a dead fly off the table that served as his desk. He yawned. It was late afternoon, the time of day when boys are inclined to grow sleepy over their schoolbooks. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight from the nearest window. Drying ink at the mouth of Tom’s inkpot took on the colours of the rainbow.
Rainbows over the bay .
‘Thomas!’ Mr Beasley said abruptly. ‘Are you paying attention ?’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Then perhaps you would humour me by naming the exports of Ireland to Spain and Portugal. Stand up, please.’
‘Spain and Portugal?’ Tom queried, playing for time.
Beasley nodded.
‘The exports are … er …’ Tom’s brain was racing. He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Pilchards, cod, hake, salmon skins for gloves, beans, iron, linen …’ he rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling, ‘… pipe-staves, butter and tallow. Sir.’ He heaved a sigh of relief and sat down.
There was a knock at the door. Mr Beasley scowled at theinterruption. A moment later Virginia thrust her head into the room. ‘Tom? There is the funniest little girl downstairs, asking for you.’
But she was no longer downstairs. She pushed past Virginia and ran straight to Tom. ‘I’m not funyest and I’m not little!’ she cried, stamping her feet in indignation. ‘Tell her, Tomflynn.’
‘Maura! What brings you here?’
The child noticed Mr Beasley staring at her bare toes. ‘Your eye is crookit,’ she told him. ‘Does it hurt much?’ Before the astonished tutor could respond she said, ‘I’m Tomflynn’s friend, Maura. I want to know if he likes this house better’n me.’
‘I like you and your family better than anybody,’ Tom assured her.
Maura rewarded him with a dazzling smile. Virginia was frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked her brother. ‘Just who is this person, Tom? And what is her family to you?’
‘She told you; they’re my friends.’
‘I see,’ said Virginia, who did not see at all. She bent down until her face was level with Maura’s. ‘I should like to be your friend too.’ She spoke in the too-sweet voice adults commonly use for infants.
Maura regarded her solemnly, then held up two small hands with fingers spread wide. ‘I have this many friends now,’ she informed Virginia. ‘Can’t have more ’til I have more fingers.’
Tom burst into laughter. ‘Did you come all the way here by yourself, Maura, or did Donal bring you?’
Her eyes danced. ‘By myself!’
Tom glanced towards his tutor. ‘A gentleman would walk you home, is that not right, Mr Beasley?’ He extended a hand to the child, who took it with perfect trust. ‘Come now, Maura, the hour is late and we’d best be going.’ Without waiting for permission from anyone, he led her from the room.
Halfway down the front stairs they met Mrs Flynn coming up. When she saw Maura one hand flew to her throat. The other hand gripped the banister until the knuckles were white. ‘Where did you come from?’ she gasped.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mr Flynn Makes a Friend
T here must be many paths by now, thought William Flynn. Paths not visible to the naked eye, yet worn as surely as chariot tracks in the stony roads of Rome. Paths marking my pilgrimages to the doors of the great and grand. Once they were happy enough to see me. Now that I need them, none of them want to know me.
So I drag myself back to Dublin Castle one more time. The Castle swarms with administrators and lawyers and clerks and accountants and hangers-on. I want to
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