Fields of Home (3 page)

‘Michael! Didn’t you hear me? Which do you think is the finest horse in my father’s stables?’ enquired Felicia, letting the new foal nuzzle at her fingers.

‘Well, that I’m not sure of, Miss, it would depend on what you’d be wanting the horse for. Samson and Jolly are two of the best farmhorses you’d ever get, and your father’s pair of greys are considered the finest carriage horses in the county. Your father loves Old Tom when
he wants to go out on a day’s hunting – he says rain or wind or sleet, Old Tom never lets him down. And you … well, do you remember that you had a great shine for Markey?’

‘Markey isn’t a horse,’ the girl spluttered. ‘Markey’s a donkey.’

‘Well, that didn’t seem to matter when you were small and you’d be sneaking him carrots and apples.’

Felicia giggled. ‘Which do you think?’ she insisted, tossing her auburn curls off her face.

‘Some of them are fast. Jerpoint’s very fast. Nero’s won four races already and Toss feels that Juno might have a good chance this season.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I like this youngster,’ he said, nodding towards the colt.

Felicia ran her white palm along the foal’s coat. ‘He’s a bit small and a bit wobbly,’ she stated, ‘but I like him too. What’s he called?’

Michael shrugged. ‘He was only born early this morning, Miss. Toss hasn’t had time to discuss it with your father yet.’

‘This morning!’

Michael nodded, trying to block out memories of Ragusa.

‘Then … I think we should call him Morning – Morning Boy. I’ll tell Father.’

Michael smiled. Whatever that young lady suggested, her father usually agreed to. Having no sons, Henry Buckland was besotted by his two daughters, especially Felicia, who followed him around like an over-eager puppy.

‘Felicia! You are to come into the house immediately!’ They both turned at the same time to see Rose standing at the gate to the cobbled yard. ‘Mary is running you a bath and you are to get changed. Mother is very vexed with you.’

‘I’ll be along in a minute,’ Felicia muttered in annoyance, kissing the middle of Morning Boy’s nose.

‘Now!’ insisted her older sister, reluctant to walk across the cobbles in case she stood in some horse dung.

Felicia turned on her toes. ‘Rose Geranium Cowslip Buckland, I’ll be with you right now! ‘she shouted.

Michael tried to hide his smile. Miss Felicia reminded him so much of his younger sister, Peggy. Full of spirit. Poor Rose had turned the colour of a turkey-cock and was walking as fast as she could, skirt flying, back up the avenue. At the top of the rhododendron-lined avenue stood the big house.

Michael remembered when, as a young lad, he had first come to work in the stables of Castletaggart House. He had found it so hard to believe that anyone could live in such a grand place, with its hundreds of
sparkling window-panes and stonework ledges and wide granite steps. In the six years since he’d come to work at the big house Michael had learnt so much – not only about horses, but about the big house and its ways.

At first Toss had only let him clean out the stables, just mucking out, the very worst job in the place. Michael begged for the chance to ride the horses and was overwhelmed with disappointment at each refusal. Still, Toss had no complaints about his work.

‘I’m watching you!’ was all Toss would say.

Obviously, Michael had to show his ability before he would be trusted with any of the Buckland horses. In time, Toss gave him his chance.

There was no doubt that Castletaggart House was the finest house ever and Lord Henry Buckland a very wealthy man. Every fish that swam in the river and lake, every cow that grazed on the vast green fields, every pheasant and woodcock that inhabited the undergrowth, every apple or cabbage that grew from the rich brown soil was part of the vast Buckland estate. There were about forty tenants’ cottages on the estate for the workers and their families. The tenant farmers worked the estate lands and in return were given a patch of ground where they could only grow barely enough to feed their own families.

Michael would watch these men – young, middle-aged
and old – come cap-in-hand to the estate manager’s office, queuing outside to pay their rent and hand over their dues. They reminded him of his father long ago, that same wooden look in their faces, their eyes set, their hearts hardened. They probably had ignored the pleas of wives and children to hold a few shillings back in case the winter was hard, or the sickness came – or worse, God forbid, that the potatoes would fail again. No, these men would pay their way and hand over the money they earned, the crops they grew, the animals they raised. They had no choice.

George Darker, the estate manager, would write down the figures in big brown ledgers. He was barely civil to them, stubbing the page with a dirty finger to show where they were to sign their name or make their mark.

Sometimes Lord Henry, if he was in the mood, would join them, puffing his pipe, making polite conversation with the men.

Michael could sense a growing feeling of unease amongst these tenant farmers. He listened as they talked between themselves, behind cabin doors and in crowded public houses. Michael wondered what would come of all this talk. These men wanted change …

‘Michael! Are you listening to me?’

Michael looked down.

Felicia was gazing up at him, impatient. ‘I’ll be back
down to see Morning Boy tomorrow afternoon, after my lessons.’

‘That’s fine, Miss.’

She raced across the yard, swinging on the open gate, and humming to herself as she tried to catch up with her sister and make amends.

CHAPTER 4

The Visit

MARY-BRIGID LOVED TO GO
visiting even if it did mean having to get her hair brushed and pulled and braided back into two tight plaits. She swung her head from side to side, feeling the comforting wallop of hair against her cheek as she followed her mother along the bumpy laneway towards the Hennessys’ cottage. Eily walked briskly, carrying Jodie on her hip. The hedgerows were covered in heavy red droopy fuchsia bushes, and beneath them clumps of spiky orange flowers sprang out everywhere. It was a grand day for a walk and their friends’ cottage was only about another half-mile away. Mary-Brigid was looking forward to seeing the Hennessy boys again – it was a while since school had closed for the holidays and she missed her friends.

The Hennessys’ cottage was a bit bigger than their own, but as they came near it Mary-Brigid couldn’t help but notice that some of the thatch needed patching and the windows needed mending. She waited patiently as her mother called at the open door. ‘Hello, Frances! God bless all here.’ They went into the turf-smelling, untidy kitchen.

‘Eily! I’m right glad to see you and the children,’ said Frances Hennessy. ‘And how’s Mary-Brigid, the best girl in these parts?’

‘Fine, thank you, Mrs Hennessy!’ Mary-Brigid replied shyly.

‘Sit ye down! Sit ye down!’ Frances was busy feeding Colm, her youngest boy, who, with his scattering of pale ginger curls and freckled nose, was the very image of his mother. ‘I’ll wet the tea in a few minutes.’

Jodie disappeared off straight away to play with little Eoin, who was much the same age as himself. But Mary-Brigid’s friends, the twins, were nowhere to be seen, so she sat quiet and embarrassed as her mother and Frances chatted.

‘The twins will be along in a minute, pet,’ said Frances, ‘and they have something special to show you.’ She laughed, flinging back her plump neck and ignoring the dirty floor and mess of unwashed clothes in a heap in the corner. She was delighted with her visitors.

‘The fire’s a bit low, Mary-Brigid, will you be a good
child and run out and fetch in a bit of turf for us?’

At the side of the house, Mary-Brigid looked at the sorry pile of dried-out old turf which lay on the ground. Her own daddy worked up on the bog as often as he could and already had a pile of turf almost the height of the chimney stacked against their house for the winter. The Hennessys would have to get a lot more turf, as they certainly hadn’t enough here to get them through the year. She selected four pieces that weren’t too crumbly and carried them inside, where her mother and Frances were deep in conversation.

‘There isn’t a spare penny, Eily. Paddy won’t even organise himself to cut enough turf to keep us going when the bad weather comes.’ Frances sounded really upset now.

‘Maybe John could bring some over for you,’ offered Eily. ‘We have plenty.’

‘That’s kind of you. Poor Paddy isn’t himself at the moment.’ Frances was almost in tears. ‘The new landlord came over here with William Hussey, his agent, and the two of them gave Paddy a right going over about yields and about that thistle field out back.

‘Everyone hereabouts knows that that field has grown nothing but thistles for years,’ she went on. ‘The agent said that Paddy’s not working the land properly, not growing enough crops, not paying enough rent … I tell you, Eily, Paddy’s right upset about it, angry like;
there’s no telling what fool idea he’ll get into his head.’

Mary-Brigid tried to concentrate and understand what they were talking about. She could tell by her mother’s face and voice that it was something bad.

‘This new landlord, Frances, what’s he like?’ Eily asked.

‘Dennis Ormonde? A quare fellow!’ said Frances. ‘He wants us to work like slaves so that we can pay him a higher rent.’

‘A higher rent!’ gasped Eily.

‘Aye! Paddy’s right worried that Hussey is going to try and make us surrender our holding and evict us!’

‘He couldn’t do that! He wouldn’t!’ cried Eily.

‘Mark my words, Eily, there’s no telling what that man will do to the tenants!’ Frances said angrily, shaking her head of wavy curls.

A clatter of noise disrupted the conversation as the twins, Pascal and Patsy, appeared at last. They both looked grimy and dishevelled, but that didn’t matter a bit to Mary-Brigid. She jumped up to join them and get away from the serious conversation of the mothers.

‘Mam, can we bring Mary-Brigid to see Mo?’ they asked.

‘Aye!’ nodded their mother, who had brightened at the sight of the two nine-year-old rascals. ‘I’m trusting you boys to take good care of her, and keep her out of trouble.’ A puzzled look filled their identical features,
as if they would never dream of getting into trouble!

‘Arragh! Run off the three of ye,’ said Frances with a laugh, ‘and give Eily and meself a bit of peace!’

* * *

Mary-Brigid was out of breath after an hour or more of haring around with the twins as they showed her everything – the muddy pool near the ditch where some frogs lived, the huge oak tree that Patsy said he’d climbed to see a crows’ nest, and the well which was so deep that if you dropped a stone in, you couldn’t hear it land. But the twins kept the very best thing to last. Mo, the farm cat, had had kittens and they took Mary-Brigid down to the old out-house to see them.

The very minute she set eyes on the four small bundles of fur, lying close to their large marmalade-coloured mother, Mary-Brigid fell in love with them.

‘Would you like to hold one of them?’ asked Patsy.

Mary-Brigid nodded. One bold little fellow got up from the old sacking bed and came over to sniff at her fingers and let itself be stroked. She could feel the orange kitten’s tiny claws stick to the wool of her cardigan as she hugged it close.

‘You’re my favourite!’ whispered Mary-Brigid in its ear, as the kitten stretched its paw to claw at her plait of hair. She wanted to hold this little kitten and never
let it go.

It was nearly tea-time when they ran back to the cottage.

‘We’re starving, Mammy!’ shouted the boys.

‘Will ye stay, Eily, and have a bite with us?’ offered Frances.

‘Thank you kindly, Frances, but I’ve left Nano keeping an eye on a pot of rabbit stew,’ said Eily.

Mary-Brigid could sense her mother’s tiredness and anxiety.

‘Try not to worry, Frances,’ Eily continued, ‘the Tenants’ Rights League would never let William Hussey get his way. Look, I’ll send John over in the morning with the cart of turf, and maybe he can talk to Paddy.’

The two young women hugged each other.

‘You’re a good friend, Eily,’ murmured Frances, tears welling in her eyes, ‘I’ll never forget you for this!’ She turned to the twins. ‘Patsy, did ye get what I told you?’

The twins disappeared but returned within seconds, carrying the orange kitten which they tumbled into Mary-Brigid’s delighted arms.

‘What do you say, Mary-Brigid?’ prompted Eily.

‘Thank you! Oh, thank you so much, Mrs Hennessy. I promise to take good care of him.’

The Hennessys stood at their door until Eily, Mary-Brigid and Jodie were out of sight. Eily was silent and distracted, Jodie drowsy and almost asleep on her
shoulder, as they traipsed along the path for home. Mary-Brigid did her best to block out the words and worries she’d overheard with the comforting heat of the small kitten cradled inside her cardigan.

‘Just wait till Maisie sees him!’ she announced.

CHAPTER 5