As he led Davy McMullan to the cart, Knox wondered what would happen to him if Cornwallis ever decided to complain about his behaviour. The snow had stopped falling but an inch had settled on the ground and was already melting into a brown sludge.
While Jonathan Maxwell went to speak with one of his men, the stable boy sidled up to Knox.
‘You the man who’s lookin’ into that dead body, one found not far from here?’ he whispered.
Knox patted the horse on its nose, trying to appear bored, in case Maxwell saw them in conversation. ‘That’s right. Why? Did you see something?’
‘I didn’t see who done it, if that’s what you mean.’
‘But you have some information about the murder?’
‘None of us likes the master but we’re afraid of him. They say he’s grown a tail. Promise me you won’t tell ’im what I’m about to say.’
‘I promise,’ Knox whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
The stable boy went round to check the horse’s reins. ‘All I know is that his Lordship knows the fellow that died.’ He looked around, making sure Maxwell was otherwise occupied. ‘I was there when his Lordship first saw the body. His eyes near popped out of his head.’
Knox turned slightly but the stable boy had raced off as Maxwell strode towards the cart, his face red and blotchy. ‘His Lordship will expect to see this man’s name when the list of defendants at the next sessions is published in the newspaper.’
‘Mam, this is Davy McMullan. He used to be a friend of mine. I’ve invited him to join us for lunch.’
Knox had cut off the rope binding the man’s wrists before they’d reached the cottage and he now ushered McMullan into the warmth of the front room.
The news that there would be two additional mouths to feed sent his mother scurrying over to the pot of boiling corn but Knox knew she would find a way of making do. Knox was greeted with a hug from each of his brothers. Matthew was now taller than he was and his arms and shoulders had filled out from his work on the land. His greeting was warm but short-lived. Peter’s arms remained around him and Knox stroked him gently on the head, the way he liked. Slowly Knox prised himself away from Peter and to his surprise the lad scurried over to where their father was standing and nuzzled against the older man. Martin Knox put his arm around his youngest son and for a few moments no one spoke. This was the first time the whole family had been together in months and Knox suddenly felt like an intruder, as though he had interrupted their domestic harmony and introduced tension into the air. Martin watched him carefully.
The previous winter Peter had fallen sick again, this time with a fever, and they had all taken turns to stay at home and nurse him, even Martin. In fact, their father had done as much if not more than anyone and Knox had struggled to reconcile this notion with the drunken ogre he had known as he grew up.
Davy McMullan shuffled across to the fire and held up his hands to warm them.
‘Davy McMullan? We knew your ma and da, didn’t we? You used to live not far from us.’
McMullan didn’t seem to have heard Martin’s question. He stared wordlessly at the fire.
‘Laddie, I asked ye a question.’
‘Let him eat first,’ Knox’s mother said, stirring the pot of corn with a wooden spoon. ‘Look at him. He’s nothing but skin and bones.’
‘Man comes into my home uninvited. Is it too much to ask him to be civil as well?’
‘I invited him. I’d ask you to treat my guest with respect, but clearly that’s something you’re incapable of.’
Knox stepped into the space between McMullan and his father. This was the first time he had openly confronted the man and he could barely control his shaking hands. His father hadn’t actually struck him in a long while but memories of those encounters were seared into his brain. Knox had seen at first hand what violence did to its victims and perpetrators and had vowed never to strike another man in anger.
The injury registered on his father’s face and he reddened. ‘You watch it now, Michael. You’re under my roof now.’
Knox didn’t like to cause a scene in front of his mother — or Peter — but his father’s show of affection towards his younger brother had rankled. ‘You may live here and throw in a few pennies towards the rent that you haven’t pissed up against the wall, but this will always be Mam’s house.’
His father took a few steps towards him, his fists curled up into tight balls. His face was scarlet and Knox could see the veins pulsing in his neck. ‘I warned ye, lad.’
Trying to control his nerves, Knox stood his ground and to his amazement he saw that his father didn’t know what to do.
Peter started to whimper and then scuttled over to their mother, who gathered him up into the folds of her apron. ‘Please, both of ye.’ Her tone was scalding and it brought them to their senses. She started to ladle spoonfuls of the steaming hot corn and buttermilk into bowls. ‘ There.’ She feigned a smile and placed one of the bowls in front of their guest, who had taken up a place at the small table. Uninvited, he picked up a spoon and started to eat.
Knox stared at McMullan, who continued to spoon the corn into his open mouth. He finished in what seemed like seconds and wiped the bowl clean with his little finger, then silently eyed the food that had been laid out for Knox. Knox told him to go ahead. He said that he’d already eaten that morning, which was a lie. McMullan looked at him, hollow-eyed. He didn’t need another invitation. Tucking in with his spoon, he emptied the second bowl in a few mouthfuls. By now, even Martin Knox had taken an interest and was watching McMullan with a mixture of fascination and revulsion.
After he’d finished the second bowl of corn, McMullan sat there in a daze. Then he turned to look at Martin Knox. ‘You were asking after my family, sir.’
Knox’s father tried to stammer a response but the words got stuck in his throat.
‘We were evicted from our cabin just before Christmas. By then the workhouse in Cashel had closed its doors. I thought I’d be able to get some relief work on one of the estates but the agents were hiring their own tenants. We stayed with a neighbour for a day or two but then one of the children was struck down with the fever and we all had to move out. After that, no one would take us in. Why would they? I did what I could, built a shelter outdoors, but I had no money for food, nothing at all. All I could do was forage for grubs. My elder child died a week later. We buried her as best we could but by then our younger child had fallen ill and she perished a few days later. My wife took it all very badly as you can imagine. When I woke up the following morning, I found her lying next to me. She’d taken her own life. I buried her next to my beautiful girls.’
For what seemed like minutes no one in the room spoke. Knox looked up at his mother and saw that her eyes were damp with tears.
He went across to where Davy McMullan was sitting and placed his hand gently on the man’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know what to say. But I’m sorry for all you’ve had to suffer.’
Knox’s father looped his thumbs through the top of his trousers and sniffed. ‘His Lordship’s tryin’ to run things the best way he knows how. You can’t blame him. Sometimes these things happen. Bad luck.’ He looked around the room for support.
His mother, who had made the same argument to Knox a few days earlier, walked over to where her husband was sitting and slapped him once around the cheek.
No one dared move. Knox prepared himself for his father’s response but this time he wouldn’t let the man lay a finger on his mother. Matthew stared down at the floor and Peter was weeping. Knox had once seen his father split open his mother’s skull with the force of his blows but now the man just looked broken and lost.
‘We should get going before the weather sets in.’ Knox looked at Davy McMullan. He hadn’t told them that he was transporting the man to prison.
His mother nodded dumbly, still in a state of shock. Knox went to hug her. ‘Tell him if he lays a finger on you,’ he whispered, ‘I’ll come back here with a warrant for his arrest.’