She tapped him playfully on the arm. ‘Is it really such an abhorrent idea?’
Pyke sat up slightly and turned towards her but before he could say anything, she reached out and pressed the tip of her finger against his lip. ‘Please don’t say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘That you think what we just did was a mistake.’ Smiling, Cathy got up, picked up her nightgown and slipped it on.
Pyke watched her for a few moments. ‘I saw John Johns earlier today. He asked me about my intentions towards you and told me he didn’t want to see you get hurt.’
Hearing this, she stiffened slightly and turned away, so he couldn’t see her face. ‘He’s just concerned about me, as a friend.’
Pyke sat up and pulled the sheet over his waist. ‘It made me wonder whether he likes you as more than a friend.’
‘Who, John? Surely not.’ But her laugh wasn’t quite convincing.
‘It also made me think about the man who was spying on us the other night.’
‘You think it might have been John?’
Pyke watched her cross the room, to the door, her hand resting on the handle.
‘No, not necessarily. But I thought I’d mention it.’
She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. ‘John isn’t interested in me for myself. Deep down, I think he despises my husband and father-in-law and sees me as a way of getting at them.’
‘Why would he think that?’
But Cathy had already slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
FOURTEEN
SATURDAY, 30 JANUARY 1847
Cashel, Co. Tipperary
Knox lay next to his wife, listening to her sleep, the sound of her breathing soothing him. It was early, barely light, but he had been awake for hours, thinking about what might happen to them. Closing his eyes, he remembered their wedding night and the day James had been born, the happiest of Knox’s life. They had tried to pack things up but the reality of their eviction hadn’t sunk in. He’d told Martha everything and she had let him talk, calm, not rushing to judge him. They’d both cried, then Martha had berated him, but in the end she had come around. She told him that she understood why he’d done what he’d done.
Just before they had turned in for the night, she had gripped him, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Michael, what are we going to do? We’ve got no roof over our heads, no money, no work. And we have James to look after.’
‘I’ll get work,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll do what I have to. We’ll get by. You’ll see.’
‘ How? How will you get work, Michael? People are dying in their thousands. There is no work.’ She had paused then, perhaps aware that her tone had been harsher than she’d intended.
Now he sensed Martha stirring next to him and held his breath. He didn’t want her to wake up, not just yet. They had six hours to clear the cottage and Warburton would treat them humanely; and Jeremy Brittas had offered them a bed for the night. That would do until they found somewhere else.
‘But where, Michael?’ Martha had said yesterday, once it became apparent that no one would even rent them a room.
Knox had spent the afternoon knocking on doors and Brittas’s was the only offer made to him. Somehow Cornwallis had poisoned everyone in the town against them.
Martha rolled over to face him now, eyes still closed. ‘Hold me,’ she whispered. ‘Just hold me and don’t say anything.’
Knox put his arms around her and pulled her close. It was warm under the blanket, warm and dry. All the things he had taken for granted.
‘Why didn’t you say anything to me before, Michael? What did you imagine I’d do?’ Her tone was inquisitive rather than accusatory.
‘I was ashamed. I couldn’t stand the thought I’d let you down. Let us down. James, especially.’
‘So what do you think Moore’s trying to hide?’ Martha said, suddenly. She broke their embrace and rested her head on her elbow.
‘One of the labourers at the estate told me that Moore knew the dead man. Said that when Moore first saw the body, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.’
‘Does Moore know you know this?’
Knox shook his head. ‘The only way out of this mess may be for you to keep digging.’ She pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. ‘You’ve nothing left to lose.’
‘No. What I need to do is forget about Moore, forget about the murdered man. I’ll find work and a new place for us to live.’
Martha’s smile was sad. ‘Don’t you get it, Michael? Moore’s seen to it that no one will rent us a home. Who on earth will give you a job?’
Knox nodded mutely. He had said what he thought Martha wanted to hear but he had reached the same conclusion.
‘Yesterday, when you went into town, I took James to see Father Mackey in Clonoulty.’
Knox sat up. Her visits to Clonoulty were the only thing they really argued about. He just didn’t understand why she kept going, when she professed to be ambivalent about the Church. ‘You didn’t mention that yesterday.’
‘I’m not the only one who’s kept their silence, am I?’ Her stare was defiant but there was no real anger in her tone.
‘So why did you go to see Mackey?’
‘Because he said if we were ever in need, his door would always be open.’
‘And is it?’
‘He’s not in Asenath Moore’s pocket.’
Knox felt his indignation weaken. ‘He’d even take in a dirty Protestant like me?’
‘No one’s outside of Moore’s reach, Michael.’ Martha bit her lip, wouldn’t look at him. ‘Not even a man like Father Mackey.’
‘What are you trying to tell me, Martha?’
‘Father Mackey denounced Moore from the pulpit. Since then, his home’s been broken into, his horse stolen and the windows of his church shattered.’
Knox was starting to see where this was going. ‘Let me guess. He said he’d take you and James in, but not me.’
‘It would just be for a few weeks, Michael, until this whole thing has blown over. You could use the money you’ve saved…’
‘What about old man Brittas? Remember, he offered us a roof over our heads, too.’
Martha smiled and shook her head. ‘You can be so naive, Michael. He’s an old man. As soon as Brittas finds out we’re staying at the lodge, that’ll be that. He’ll have us out of there in no time.’
Knox felt a wave of bitterness swelling up inside him. ‘So you go to Father Mackey and I sleep in a hedgerow.’
‘Better you in a hedgerow than our son. You think he’d survive even one night out in the cold?’
Knox fell silent, another pang of shame. Martha saw it and reached out, touched his cheek. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I love you, Michael, I really do. And it would just be for a few weeks.’
‘And in the meantime, I take myself off to Dundrum to find out what connection the deceased had to Moore?’
‘We won’t have a moment’s peace in this town until you do. Moore’s frightened of you, Michael. Of what you already know and what you might find out. That’s why he’s done what he’s done. If you find out what that something is then you can hold it over him.’
Outside in the lane, Knox heard horses’ hoofs and the jangling of harnesses. He got out of bed and went to the window. A carriage pulled by four horses came to a halt. Knox was already halfway down the stairs.
The rain outside was torrential, the sky black as ink. Four men were standing in front of the gate, all wearing hats. Jeremy Brittas was gesticulating at the others while Warburton, his agent, pointed to the cottage.
‘You still here?’ Brittas said gruffly when Knox opened the front door. On the few occasions Knox had met him before, he had always been perfectly civil.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Knox said, ‘but Mr Warburton assured me I would have until midday to clear out my possessions.’
Brittas ignored him and barked orders at the two men he’d brought with him. Warburton refused to look at Knox.
‘I have a wife and child, sir. Please have some mercy.’
Finally Brittas acknowledged him. He had always struck Knox as a kindly man, perhaps even a little meek for his own good, too much in his father’s shadow. Now his eyes were dead. ‘I’m afraid, sir, my mind is made up. You have fifteen minutes.’