A Kiss and a Promise (42 page)

Mabel felt the heat rush to her cheeks but shook her head. ‘No, there’s nothing I’d rather do because I don’t mean to paddle and get another soaking,’ she said firmly. ‘Thank goodness it’s such a heavenly day. Even the breeze is warm.’

Michael agreed that this was so and presently the two of them sat down, leaning against a rock. Mabel immediately fell asleep, only waking when her companion gently shook her shoulder. ‘Your things are dry,’ Michael said softly, as she yawned and sat up. ‘I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful lyin’ there, but I think we had best go back to Portlaoise and then set off again first thing. I don’t fancy trekking along narrow pathways by moonlight!’

Mabel got to her feet and began stuffing her now dry clothing into her suitcase. ‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I don’t much fancy a walk by moonlight myself. Especially with my sort of luck; I’d probably go head first into a ravine, which wouldn’t help us to catch up with Ginny and we’ve lost too much time as it is.’

Michael chuckled. ‘I’m goin’ to keep me eye on you from now on, so there’ll be no more accidents,’ he said firmly. ‘I know I’ve not said it before, but I’m that grateful for your help and companionship that if you did fall into a ravine, I’d carry you the rest of the way on me back sooner than abandon you to your fate.’ He glanced shyly at her, his dark eyes questioning. ‘Mabel … I don’t know how to say this …’

‘Then don’t say anything,’ Mabel said, with a crisp-ness she was far from feeling. The look in his eyes had made her feel soft and vulnerable; two sensations which had previously been completely alien to her. ‘We really must get on, Michael, if we’re to overtake the tinker band before … before …’

‘Sorry; for a moment I was forgettin’ that Ginny’s our first priority,’ Michael said with a humility which tore at Mabel’s heartstrings. She saw him pick up his grip and her suitcase as though it weighed no more than a feather, and felt a sharp pang of regret that she had not let him continue with whatever it was he had been going to say. But she knew he was right; Ginny was their first priority. Their own situation – and feelings – could be dealt with later, when they had Ginny safe.

She stretched out a hand and caught Michael’s. ‘Give me that suitcase,’ she said in a scolding voice. ‘You can’t carry everything, it’s not fair.’

Michael grinned down at her and squeezed her hand and she realised, with a mingled sense of relief and disappointment, that they were now back on a normal, friendly footing.

‘I can carry a good deal more than this wit’out strainin’ meself unduly,’ he assured her. ‘Best foot foremost, Mabel!’

During the days that followed her arrival at the tinker camp, it became more and more clear to Ginny that, no matter how friendly and casual everyone seemed, she was, in fact, a prisoner. She was still furious with the two-faced Conan, who had pretended to be her friend but had plotted with the tinkers against her, but she did realise that it would not be sensible to show her animosity openly. Conan did not know she had overheard his conversation with the older boy and she felt, obscurely, that it would probably be easier to get away from Conan than it would from Nan. Nan went with her everywhere as a rule, but there were occasions when her mother gave her a task which meant she could not keep her eye on Ginny all the time and it was then that Conan took over. He was growing useful, she supposed, since he was frequently sent to take a group of ponies, mules or donkeys off into the nearby countryside and release them in a farmer’s meadow, distant from the farmhouse, where he would remain with them as they grazed their full on stolen grass. If she had been taking the ponies to graze in a farmer’s meadow without his permission, Ginny would have been terrified that the farmer would appear and give her a good beating or even hail her off to the nearest police station, but Conan told her that he positively enjoyed such encounters. He carried a cudgel with which he threatened anyone who approached too close and whistled up reinforcements from the tinkers’ camp if such threats failed. If he saw that none of this deterred the angry landowner, however, he would mount the leading pony, crouching low over its neck and whipping the rest of his small herd into frantic flight. He often boasted of his exploits as the tribe sat around the camp fire eating the delicious stew, and though this sometimes earned him contemptuous glances from lads of his own age, the older men seemed more tolerant. Ginny heard two of them discussing Conan one evening and it appeared that they thought him much like his father and were prepared to put up with his boastful talk because they hoped he would one day be truly useful to them.

‘Eamonn O’Dowd is just the same, so he is; but he’s a rare ‘un, a horse caller,’ the older man told the younger one. ‘When I goes after a horse, I has to get right up to him and even then he’ll sometimes take fright and bolt. But Eamonn just stands by the gate and calls and the horses come over to him, all of ’em. He’ll reach out a hand wit’ the rope halter in it, and the horse he’s chosen will drop its head into the loop and trot off at his heels, as though they’d knowed one another all their lives. I think young Conan may be just such another, and if he is, he’ll be worth his weight in gold to the tribe, no question.’

It all sounded very strange to Ginny but it was clear that, should Conan decide to stay with the tinkers, he would soon become valuable to them whereas she, so far as she could tell, was to be sold to her own father when the tribe got near enough to Headland Farm.

She wondered whether to tell Conan that his usefulness to the tinkers was not dependent upon the ransom they might get from her father, but decided that this was a card she would hold in reserve.

And then, when she had been with the band several days without once having an opportunity to escape, the chief called her to his tent. He and his brother, Abe, were sitting cross-legged on the ground. Both men had greasy black hair, sharp black eyes and swarthy skin, but Abe’s hair hung to his shoulders and his face was thin and crafty as a fox. Ginny disliked him intensely and knew him for the cheat he was, for though he frequently came into the camp bringing in horses which he claimed to have bought, she had seen him using dye on their coats to change their appearance. The dye was made by the women of the tribe and was much prized since it did not wash out in the rain and so transformed a stolen horse for many months. Indeed, Nan told her that the secret of its manufacture was much envied by other tribes.

Ginny had hung around the fire one day when a brew of dye was boiling up. Her antagonism towards the band was such that she had stolen one of the tiny bottles full of dye and slipped it into the deep pocket of her skirt. It was evidence, she told herself grimly, that all the tinkers were thieves, and if she ever managed to escape from them she meant to take the dye to the scuffers as proof of the Kavanagh tribe’s perfidy. However, escaping did not seem likely as yet.

But right now, she looked enquiringly across at the chief, avoiding even a glance at his brother. The chief told her that he had written to her father – or rather that he had caused Nan’s mother to write – saying that Ginny was safe with the tinkers and would be returned to him as soon as possible. ‘So there’s no need for you to t’ink of leavin’ us,’ he said, giving her an oily smile. ‘Because you’ll get home a deal slower if you’re by yourself, and Conan’s happy wit’ us and don’t mean to leave.’

‘I see,’ Ginny said, rather inadequately. ‘I’d like to write to my father meself, but I don’t have no paper, nor no pencil.’

The man laughed. ‘Nor no stamp, nor no ennylope,’ he said mockingly. ‘But I telled you, a letter’s gone to your pa’ so you’ll be safe home awright and tight, if you sticks with us, that is.’

After that, Ginny realised that keeping a constant eye on her was growing as irksome to the tinkers as it was to herself. She decided to do her best to calm their fears and besides, unless she could get to talk to someone who could tell her in which direction Kerry lay, there was little point in trying to escape. She determined that the next time the women went into the nearest village for supplies, she would offer to accompany them, suggesting that she should help to carry back the provisions they bought. But mature reflection that night, as she lay in her blanket, told her that any such suggestion would be greeted by either doubling up the guard on her or simply refusing her offer of help. No, the best to thing to do was to allay their suspicions totally by voluntarily remaining in the camp. She would go with the girls on wood-gathering expeditions and accompany either Conan or Nan when they went stealing vegetables, but she would not wander off – not until she was ready to make her bid for escape that was – for she realised that if she tried to escape, and failed, she would be very unlikely to be given a second chance.

The next morning Ginny woke to hear a strange sound, a sort of gentle pattering upon the roof over her head. She was staring at the canvas when a large drop hit her smack in the middle of her forehead and she realised, with a small pang of dismay, that it was raining.

It was the first rain she had seen since arriving in Ireland, and presently, when she got up and made her way to the tent entrance, she saw that it must have been raining for some time, for the camp fire was out and large puddles had formed in every little hollow. Ginny shivered, wrapping her arms round herself. Shortly, she would have to go out into the rain and fetch dry wood to get the fire started, she supposed dismally, and it wasn’t like rain in the city, where one could dodge from doorway to doorway, or catch a tram to one’s destination. Here, it would be impossible to escape the rain, and since they would be packing up the tents and moving on, even that temporary shelter would soon be denied them.

‘Wharrever are you doin’, Dreamy? Oh, how I hate rain, but we’d best get a couple of armfuls of dry wood, or there won’t be no breakfast for anyone. Everyone hates strikin’ camp in the rain, but Abe brought back a chestnut mare – she’s in foal, too – so the chief won’t let us linger, although Abe has dyed her mane an’ tail black, so she does look a bit different.’

Ginny turned and grinned at Nan. ‘Awright, awright,’ she said placatingly. ‘But by the look o’ the puddles, there won’t be much dry wood about, norreven deep in the perishin’ forest. Still, we can try, I suppose.’

Nan giggled and squeezed past her, then gestured towards the nearest trees. ‘Don’t you notice nothin’, girl?’ she asked derisively. ‘The men allus pulls one of the carts into wharrever shelter there is and slings a canvas over it. They puts all the dry wood in the cart first, o’ course, so we can allus have a fire. Tinkers ain’t fools, you know; we live outdoors the whole year, not just in the summer.’

As she spoke, she had been leading Ginny towards a red and green painted cart, and presently the two girls, laden with dry wood, came hurrying back into the centre of the clearing. Nan got one of the thickest branches and began to sweep the ash to one side. It was still warm, and working quickly, she showed Ginny how to build a pyramid of the pieces of wood. Then she shouted and one of the old women came hurrying through the rain, carrying what proved to be a box containing dry leaves, hay and even some bits of old newspaper. She pushed these in at the bottom of the pyramid, lit a match, and very soon the fire was roaring and the contents of the porridge pot beginning to simmer.

No doubt to everyone’s annoyance, the rain continued unabated all morning, though the tinkers seemed to take the weather very much in their stride and continued to strike the tents and bundle them into the carts, along with all their other possessions. Since these included pigs, poultry and the younger children, it was quite a lively and even a noisy proceeding, though the children never murmured, leaving the livestock to voice their grievances.

Determined to keep up her efforts to make a good impression, Ginny worked with a will. And though, at first, she hated the rain, she soon grew accustomed to it. Besides, in its way it was beautiful, she decided, watching as a great curtain of it swept across the hills and valleys, bringing the scent of wet growing things to her nostrils. Because of the long period of dry weather, she thought she could almost see the weary trees lifting up their branches to drink in the rain, and already the grass, which had begun to flag and grow pale, was greening up once more. The river at the foot of the hills, which had seemed no more than a stream yesterday, was beginning to fill its bed, and by the time they were ready to leave, the noise of its onward rush was loud enough to intrude upon conversation and made it necessary for everyone to shout.

Usually, when the tribe were on the move, Nan and Conan were extra specially careful to stay close to Ginny, for though their path took them along unfrequented ways and quiet country lanes, they seemed to realise that in the hustle and bustle of a move Ginny could easily slip away unnoticed. Because of the rain, however, they were late setting off and very soon tempers grew frayed. The heavy clouds were actually resting on mountain and hilltops, so that as the path climbed the tribe – mules, donkeys and all –disappeared into a thick white mist and it became increasingly important for the children to check on the animals constantly. Every now and then a shrill, piping voice would announce: ‘The strawberry roan’s gorn off. I casn’t see her nowhere, I casn’t.’

Tinker children never made a noise or fuss, presumably having had it knocked out of them at an early age. Ginny had noticed that a boy would receive a clack across the head violent enough to send him crashing to the ground, but though he might scowl and mutter, he would never wail or complain vociferously. It was odd, because the adults, particularly the women, could be both noisy and aggressive. They sometimes fought amongst themselves, or a man would give his wife a clout, and then the women shrieked like wildcats whilst the men shouted and blustered; but children, it seemed, did everything quietly – except when searching for animals in a dense, white cloud. Then they whistled and hallooed to each other and very soon returned to the line of carts, the straying animals driven before them.

The tinkers never stopped for a meal when they were moving from one camp to the next, but one of the women would come round with a big jug of cold tea and a number of tin mugs, whilst another handed out great slabs of soda bread, smeared with margarine, which was enough to keep everyone satisfied until they reached their new camping ground. Ginny had no idea how such places were chosen but imagined that the tinkers tended to stop at the same spots, time after time. They must know the countryside like the backs of their hands for they always camped near a river or a stream, with a good thick stand of trees at their backs and plenty of grazing near at hand. At one point, she and Nan met, both of them trying to persuade a couple of mules that it would be more sensible to rejoin the train, and she asked Nan how long it would be before they were able to snug down somewhere for the night.