A Kiss and a Promise (41 page)

For a moment, Ginny stayed exactly as she was, feelings of fury fighting with fear within her. She should never have trusted Conan but had not believed even he capable of such wickedness and deceit, but at least she knew now why the tinkers were willing to take on board a couple of kids, and that meant that she could, to some extent at least, protect herself. She looked round at the sleeping children and at the three large women, one of whom was lying across the entrance to the tent. The flap had been left open, because it was another mild night, but it would be extremely difficult to get out through the narrow opening without awaking at least one of the sleepers.

Very, very slowly and cautiously, Ginny sat up. She thought she had made no noise at all but Nan, beside her, stirred and sat up too. ‘You awright, Ginny?’ she said. ‘It’s a warm night, I don’t need my blanket.’

‘Nor me,’ Ginny mumbled. So unexpected had Nan’s awakening been, that Ginny’s heart seemed to have doubled its pace so that when she spoke her voice was a little breathless. ‘You didn’t half give me a fright when you sat up like a bleedin’ jack-in-the-box, Nan,’ she exclaimed. ‘I want to go out for a pee but I dunno as I can get past that old woman wi’out wakin’ her.’

‘Then wake her; why not?’ Nan said equably. ‘It’s all that tea you drunk, gal. But ne’er mind, I’ll give Granny a nudge wi’ me knee an’ we’ll both slip past. ’Twon’t take a moment; we’ll be back agin afore Granny’s had a chance to get back to sleep.’

‘Awright,’ Ginny muttered and followed the other girl across the tent. Nan gave Granny a poke and the older woman seemed to wake immediately, to be instantly alert. ‘Whass goin’ on?’ she said thickly. ‘Oh, it’s you, Nan … and the young ‘un from Liverpool. Want to have a piddle? Well don’t you be long, spoilin’ me beauty sleep.’

The two girls sidled past her and made their way to the edge of the pine wood. Ginny wondered whether she might simply slip away deeper into the wood as soon as Nan took her eyes off her, but Nan did no such thing. ‘We’ll go here,’ she said, indicating a clearing. ‘Then we’d best get straight back or Granny’ll be rousin’ the camp an’ sendin’ out search parties.’

‘Why should they do that?’ Ginny asked, though she thought she knew the reason. ‘It ain’t as though the woods is full of bears an’ tigers. We can’t come to much harm, can we?’

‘No harm at all, so long as we stick together,’ Nan said cheerfully. ‘Finished? C’mon then, let’s be gettin’ back.’

Ginny began to follow her, keeping a little to the rear, but Nan reached back a friendly hand and tucked it into Ginny’s arm. ‘Best stick together unless you’ve got eyes like a cat an’ can see in the dark,’ she said breathily. ‘The dogs know me, y’see, but to them you’re just an intruder an’ might easily be attacked. That’s why I come out with you, ’stead of leavin’ you to piddle alone.’ She gave Ginny’s arm a squeeze. ‘Another time, if you feel the urge, just you give me a shake. It were lucky I woke this time – I don’t suppose I’d gone properly to sleep – or you might ha’ ended up wi’ a nasty bite.’

By now they had regained the tent, squiggled past Granny’s bulk and settled themselves into their corner. ‘The dogs must be gettin’ to know me as well as you, though,’ Ginny pointed out, as they settled down. ‘I dare say I’d ha’ been safe enough.’

Nan giggled. ‘I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,’ she said. ‘An’ you don’t want a broken leg, either. Haven’t you noticed that there’s little pits an’ mounds all round the camp? The fellers dig ’em every time we put up our tents. We don’t want no intruders comin’ round after dark, to try and get their pigs back … or to steal our ponies,’ she added hastily. ‘But you can break a leg just as easily sneakin’ out as you can sneakin’ in.’

‘I wasn’t sneakin’ anywhere,’ Ginny said immediately. ‘Why should I?’

Through the darkness, she saw Nan’s shoulders lift in a shrug. ‘I dunno, but I thought I ought to warn you,’ she said, her tone still friendly. ‘Now for Gawd’s sake, stop chatterin’; tomorrer’s movin’ on day, so we should get some sleep while we can.’

Mabel and Michael began to ask questions as soon as they reached Portlaoise. They had decided that they would stay there for the night and meant to get lodgings at one of the neat houses which lined the main street, but before doing so they went round the shops asking the usual questions … had anyone seen a redheaded ten-year-old in a faded blue dress. Several people remembered seeing Ginny but it was in a baker’s that a small boy buying a bag of buns followed them out and jerked at Michael’s sleeve. ‘Please, sir, I seen ’em,’ he said huskily. ‘There was two of ’em: a boy who talked strange and a gal wit’ long, curly ginger hair. The gal were goin’ to go into the post office but the boy stopped by me an’ me pals and axed if we knew of any tinkers hereabouts. We telled ’im yes, so we did, and sent ’im off in the right direction.’

‘Which direction?’ Michael said excitedly. ‘Did they ask for Killorglin or Kerry? Was it the girl who asked or the lad?’

‘No one said anything about Kerry or Killerwotzit,’ the boy said, after a moment’s thought. ‘One o’ the fellers took ’em out o’ the town and set ’em on the right road. It were Mick O’Casey; d’you want me to fetch ’im so’s you can ask if either of ’em mentioned that there place?’

Michael and Mabel looked at one another, then Mabel nodded. Her heart began to beat faster; it had to be a sign that they were on the right track.

‘That’s a grand idea, so it is,’ Michael said. ‘You go an’ fetch your pal, an’ I’ll search through me pockets to see if I can find a nice, bright shillin’ to thank you for your help.’

The boy trotted off and presently returned with an older lad who eyed the shilling his companion was given greedily, and immediately began to tell the adults everything he could remember about his meeting with the two children.

‘Dey axed me if I could take ’em to where de tinkers was camped,’ he said, his brogue so thick that Mabel had to use all her powers of concentration to understand a word. ‘It were de young feller what talked most so it were; the gorl said scarce a word. But she come along wi’ us, an’ when we got to de top of de rise, by ole Hilton’s medder, I pointed out de path dey should take, an’ left ’em to foller it.’

‘And what sort of tinkers were they?’ Michael asked, his tone telling Mabel that it was not just an idle question but might be terribly important. ‘Were they a small band, mending pots an’ pans, selling bunches of lucky heather, mebbe stealing an egg or two when a hen laid astray? Or – or a bigger group? Did they have much livestock … ponies, mules, and so on? Because I don’t suppose they’ll still be where you saw them, no matter what tribe they belong to. They’re wanderers, all tinkers.’

The boy shrugged. ‘I’m after tellin’ you I never went wit’ ’em into the valley, so I didn’t see de tinks, not proper I didn’t. Dey come to help wit’ de harvest an’ got paid same’s always, wit’ taties o’ course, an’ eggs, an’ mebbe a sack or two of turnips. But me daddy said we was to keep away from ’em – he didn’t care for ’em at all at all – so we did as we was bid, for once. Tinkers can be powerful mean an’ spiteful, if dey takes agin you.’

‘I know it,’ Michael said fervently. ‘When was this, exactly?’ He began to delve in his pocket again and this time produced two sixpenny bits. ‘How many days ago, I mean?’

The older boy glanced at the younger, then they both said together: ‘T’ree days ago,’ whilst the smaller one added: ‘An’ the tinks were in the fields next day but on the followin’ one they was gone. Ain’t that right, Mick?’

After some thought Mick said that it was and got his sixpenny bits, and then he agreed to go with Michael to show him where the camp had been. ‘Though I dunno whether you’ll be able to foller dem,’ he said rather doubtfully. ‘Except there were a lot of dem, and dey’ll mebbe leave a trail. And o’ course I dunno that the kids – de ginger girl an’ de boy – went wit’ de tinks. Not if dey had sense dey didn’t.’

Michael said that they would have to take a chance on it.

‘Den I’ll take youse as far as I can … youse an’ your good lady,’ Mick said, glancing curiously from one to the other, and Mabel realised, with a shock of surprise, that Mick thought she and Michael were married to one another. Well, he’s out there! I wouldn’t marry Michael Gallagher if he were the last man on earth, she told herself.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she realised that she was simply paying lip service to a feeling she no longer harboured. She had disliked Michael – and distrusted him, too – when they had first met, but she acknowledged that that had been blind prejudice, mostly caused by his treatment of Ginny. Knowing him better, she had begun to like him better, too. He had many virtues, and the sensitive way he had behaved towards her during their journey had influenced the way she felt about him.

‘One t’ing, if dey’re wit’ de tinks no one else will interfere wit’ dem,’ the boy said, bringing Mabel’s thoughts back to the present. They were hurrying along a dusty lane and striking off it on to a narrow track which led into wild, unfenced country. When the track came out on to moorland, Mick stopped and gestured ahead. ‘Dis is as far as I went wit’ dem kids,’ he announced. ‘See dat hill, slopin’ down to a pine wood? De tinks was campin’ in de valley, close agin’ the stream.’

Michael squinted into the middle distance, then gave the lad another sixpence and thanked him for his services. Then he and Mabel set off in the direction the lad had indicated. It was a warm day and Mabel, wiping perspiration from her eyes, remarked that when they reached the stream she was jolly well going to take off her shoes and stockings and have a cooling paddle, and Michael grinned at her, agreeing that a paddle would be pleasant. ‘These perishin’ boots are a lot hotter than your shoes,’ he observed. ‘I could do with a paddle meself.’

They reached the valley and saw that the boy had been right. There were obvious signs of tinker occupation, for the tribe had not bothered to clear up after themselves but had simply abandoned their mess.

‘And it’s clear enough which way they went,’ Michael said exultantly, as the two of them quartered the camping ground. ‘They may have been careful, though I doubt it when you look at the mess, but their animals have left a pretty clear trail. They skirted the pine wood and then followed that track, the one that climbs right up and over the shoulder of the mountain.’

‘Oh, Michael, it looks as though we’re on the right trail at last!’ Mabel exclaimed. She could feel a broad smile spreading across her face.

‘Ye-es, but the trail, as you call it, is two days old,’ Michael pointed out soberly. ‘And we can’t follow ’em on foot because we’d not catch them up. Still, we’re better off than we were … and now, Miss D., let’s be havin’ that paddle you talked about, because me feet are on fire, so they are, and I could do wit’ a drink of that water as well.’

Mabel took off her shoes and her stockings and ran down to the stream. Even in the valley, it was a mountainy stream, she thought, the water dashing over smooth, rounded pebbles and around the mossy rocks. She splashed in, revelling in the icy chill on her hot feet, went to sit on a boulder, slipped, and fell into a deepish pool. She gave a squawk of alarm and floundered helplessly for a moment, then felt herself seized and pulled upright. Her rescuer was laughing; she could feel the reverberations of it through the hands which held her so firmly.

‘Oh, Mary, Mother of Jesus, I’m after thinkin’ you and water just don’t get along,’ Michael said, lifting her up and carrying her across to the bank. ‘First, you’re on the sea and sick as a dog, and now you find the only deep pool in a mountain stream and go head first into it! Janey, and now you’re soaked to the skin.’ He sat her down on the grassy bank and stood back, smiling ruefully down at her. ‘What a good t’ing it’s a warm day so you won’t catch your death, but we can scarcely follow the tinks wit’ you half drownded.’

Mabel began to wring out her heavy cotton skirt, looking up at him as she did so. He would have every right, she thought, to be annoyed, but he did not look cross, only amused, with sympathy lurking. ‘I slipped,’ she said apologetically. ‘But it was bad luck, wasn’t it? As you say, I did seem to find the only really deep pool to fall into. But don’t worry about me; I’ll soon dry off and it’s such a lovely hot day that I’m not likely to catch a chill. How far is it along that track before we reach another village, though?’

‘A goodish way, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Michael said. ‘If only I’d thought, we could have bought some food and had a picnic.’

Mabel suddenly remembered that they had not found themselves lodgings before setting out with the boys, so she still had her suitcase and Michael his grip. ‘If you’ll turn your back, like the gentleman I know you are, I can change into dry things and spread the wet ones out on a handy gorse bush,’ she said. ‘That way, they’ll dry a good deal quicker than if I kept them on. And then we can follow the track until we reach the next village and ask there for Ginny and the tinkers.’

Michael nodded slowly, though he still looked a little uncertain. ‘Ye-es, but we may be mortal hungry before we reach civilisation again,’ he pointed out. ‘You don’t find many villages on mountains.’

But Mabel treated this remark as unimportant. ‘We’ll walk all the better if we’re hungry and needing our dinner,’ she said briskly. ‘Now turn your back, Mr Gallagher, and let’s hope there’s no wandering farmhand peering at me from behind a bush!’

It was not easy, struggling out of her wet clothing, but Mabel managed it somehow. She put on a blue cotton dress but decided against such items as stockings, let alone the fawn cardigan which she had been wearing over her white blouse. Realising that her shoes would be uncomfortable to her bare skin, she decided to go barefoot, for a while at any rate, and presently told Michael that he might turn round, since she was respectable once more.

Michael turned and his eyes travelled slowly over her, from her cropped golden head to her bare pink toes. Then he came towards her with a glow in his eyes that Mabel had never seen there before. She waited, conscious of a small frisson of excitement as he held out a hand, but he merely picked up the bundle of wet clothing, saying prosaically as he did so: ‘Good girl, you’ll be a great deal more comfortable in that loose dress. Now I’ll spread your wet stuff out on the bushes and we’ll sit in the sun until it’s dry.’ He cocked a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Unless there’s something you’d rather do?’