When at last I also closed my eyes, it was with my cousin Deirdre’s face before me, her hand reaching out to me from a tower window, offering me her shroud.
TWELVE
Cargoes
The warmth of our welcome from the ladies of the house did not improve in the watery sunshine of the late October morning. While the night candles in the parlour had endowed the edges of their mother’s face with folds and shadows, they had lent a sort of golden glow to her daughters which was utterly dissipated by what daylight found its way through the window panes and into the house. Pasty faces and dull eyes greeted me when I went to make my breakfast. Andrew had declared his intention of breakfasting early in the kitchen and then going to the stable, to see what further information he might glean from the maids and stable-boy. I was therefore constrained to make an uncomfortable breakfast myself in the cold parlour with the three women, the master having gone early to see to business across the river at the Clothworkers’ Hall. There was little conversation, but when they did speak it was to ask insulting questions, dressed as apologies for their ignorance, about the life and habits of my family. I learned in the course of the half-hour I was able to sit there that ‘I’, and those they supposed to be my ‘sort’, were commonly believed to live a life of licentious sloth in conditions of filth the masters of Bedlam would have baulked at.
‘I am sorry you find my manners and person so offensive to your expectations,’ I said. ‘I am only surprised my sister has not disabused you of these notions.’
‘Oh, no, your sister’s manner had quite prepared us …’
I stood up. ‘You must excuse my sister’s manner, Madam: she is accustomed to the company of ladies.’ Putting my knife in my belt, I left the frozen room.
What Andrew had learnt from the servants told us little new: Matthew Blackstone was a good master, but not a man to be crossed; his wife was a harridan and the daughters vessels of bitterness and misery. The sons were better but not well liked, and my cousin Deirdre was disdained by all in the family save her husband, who seemed genuinely to love her, and her father-in-law, who treated her as more worthy of conversation than he did his own daughters. Blackstone’s position in the plantation was sound, and his grip on building works throughout the London Companies’ proportions and the City of Londonderry tightened by the day. What he made, he invested back in land. Should the king declare the plantation forfeit, Blackstone’s losses would be incalculable.
Andrew did go to meet with my grandfather’s agent in the town and I made a show of going with him. The man was a little surprised to see Andrew and more to see me, but beyond some words of sorrow at the passing of my grandfather found little further reason to talk to me. I showed an appropriate level of interest in their conversation, and in the role of Sean as I was, spent more time admiring servant girls and young wives out about their business on the vast and empty streets of this new town. On our way down to the ferry afterwards, Andrew told me the gist of what the man had said.
‘The position of your grandfather’s business in the market here is assured. However, he says the greatest threat to the FitzGarretts’ prosperity lies in Edward Blackstone – within an hour of the news of your grandfather’s death reaching Coleraine, the leech was at the shore, claiming to act in your grandfather’s behalf, and that all FitzGarrett business here should henceforth be conducted through him.’
‘What did the agent do?’
Andrew shrugged as if my question had been unnecessary. ‘He told him to take himself off and comfort his wife, of course. That only your grandfather’s seal or my word was any currency to him.’
As Matthew Blackstone was not expected back in town until almost midday, and neither of us had any desire to return to the house, we made our way towards the quayside for want of anything better to do.
We passed the smithy to the west of the market, and the smell of the furnace and clang of iron on steel brought me back to another smithy, only ten years ago, where my father had worked and hammered almost until his last breath, pounding out his pride and his disappointments.
‘I was brought up at a forge,’ I said.
Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘And now you are a philosopher.’
‘I don’t know what I am now. I do not know what I will go back to. I do not know if my night flight with Sean will have closed those doors to me that had not long begun to open.’
‘And if they are? What then?’
‘I do not know.’
He pointed to the cluster of the old abbey buildings, where a school was planned for the townsfolk’s children. ‘I know they have no proper schoolmaster as yet.’
How clean a new beginning it would be, to be part of a society that was itself only just beginning. But I still wished with every ounce of my will and strength to hold on to the life I had, and was determined to do so until it was shown to me for certain that I had lost it.
We stopped by the jetty where the ferry from Kilowen would dock. A small barque from Ayrshire was disgorging its load of coals, bolts of Scots cloth and whisky on to the side, its master and men declaring loudly that they were damned if ever they tried to make port at Coleraine again.
The workers ashore had heard the like before.
‘Then you are twenty times damned, the whole crew of you, for you have been uttering your threats six times a year these last three years and more. And who else but the desperate and stranded would pay as we do for your shoddy wares?’ The ensuing scuffle was brought to an end with little more than bloodied noses on each side, and the dropping of a flagon of whisky which was declared to have a crack in it.
The load fully landed and accounted for, the antagonists betook themselves and the damaged bottle to a corner of the abbey grounds. As I watched them, a movement at a door in the abbey wall caught my eye. He must have been a hundred yards or more from where I stood, and he was no longer clad in his baker’s garb, but I would have sworn the fellow behind whom the small wooden door now swung shut was the Franciscan, Father Stephen. I hardly had time to gather my thoughts before Andrew took me by the arm and pulled me towards the dock.
‘The ferry is coming, with Blackstone on it. Let us see who he is with and who he talks to.’ I tried to tell him about the priest, but my voice was lost in the crush towards the quayside, for beyond the ferry could be seen, still a little way down river, the masts of the long-awaited Bristol vessel, her sails being furled as men and boys ran like monkeys over her decks and rigging. A cheer went up, and frantic work began at the harbour to make ready for the arrival. Shouts and signals were sent to the ferryman, but he had already seen the ship, and had begun slowly but deftly to guide his craft towards the far side of the jetty. Within minutes he had docked, and his passengers – a woman holding an old hen under one arm and a small child in the other, an Irishman with three stout black cows, and two Englishmen with their horses – noisily, and with some difficulty on the part of the cattle, disembarked.
‘Who is that with Blackstone?’ I asked Andrew, for the man looked familiar.
He glanced for only a moment at Blackstone’s companion. ‘I don’t know. I have never seen him before.’
‘No, wait,’ I said, forcing him to look again, ‘is that not the overseer of the brickworks?’
Andrew looked at the man for longer this time. The other’s face and clothing were clean, no trace visible of the gritty red dust that had encrusted itself into every line in his skin last night, but as he removed a coarse leather glove to take Blackstone’s change from the ferryman, I saw the redness in his hands and nails. In his eyes was the same disaffected expression we had seen before.