Virginia Henley (11 page)

Emma’s stomach knotted painfully to hear her beloved mother vilified in this way.
My God, Mother, why did you do it? Why did you betray us? How could you just run off with a boy young enough to be your son!

“Get aboard the
Swallow!
I can’t bear the sight of either one of you. From this day forward I’ll stamp out every last trace of Irish in you. I’ll crush it out if I have to!”

R
ory FitzGerald’s horse was white with lather as he rode into Greystones’s yard. “Where’s your father?”

Sean was about to upbraid his cousin for the way he’d used the horse, but he suddenly smelled trouble. “He’s on a run to Belfast, what’s amiss?”

“Jaysus!” Rory muttered as panic wedged in his throat.

“Come inside, Rory. Is it my grandfather?”

Rory nodded, almost afraid to tell anyone except the capable, down-to-earth Shamus O’Toole.

“Whatever’s the matter?” Kathleen demanded the moment she saw Rory green about the gills.

“They’ve a warrant out for his arrest,” Rory blurted.

“How many came to Maynooth?” Sean asked.

“Four soldiers in uniform. They searched the castle and the outbuildings and found the guns in the secret vaults.”

Sean wished Rory had kept his mouth shut in front of his mother.

“If my father lets anything happen to himself, I’ll kill him!”

“Hush, now. I’ll find him. I’ll get him out of the country,” Sean pledged.

“Your father will have a rare fit if you get yourself involved, and no mistake!”

“Are the soldiers still at Maynooth?” Sean demanded.

“Two of them stayed to wait for him, the other two left with evidence.”

Sean immediately sought out Paddy Burke and apprised him of the alarming news.

“Damnation, yer father has ostensibly gone for linen, but he’s carrying messages between the earl and Wolfe Tone.”

“If you know where my grandfather is, or how I can get a message to him, for God’s sake tell me, Mr. Burke.”

Paddy Burke hesitated; Shamus would have his balls if his sons became involved in the Troubles.

“Mr. Burke, I have to get him out of Ireland. They’re waiting to take him if he returns to Maynooth!”

“The Dublin connection is Bill Murphy in Thomas Street.”

Sean was amazed that the father of the Murphy brothers was involved, yet he shouldn’t have been, for both brothers were wed to FitzGeralds. “My mother’s upset. I’m for Dublin, but I’ll be back with news as soon as I may.”

    
S
ean was shocked to see Edward FitzGerald sitting large as life in Murphy’s front parlor. “Grandfather, there’s a warrant out for your arrest. The militia is waiting for you at Maynooth.”

“Jaysus! I don’t want ye involved in this; I’m surprised yer father sent ye, Sean.”

“He didn’t. He’s on a run to Belfast. Young Rory came hotfoot to Greystones and my mother is beside herself with worry. I must get you out of Ireland while the ports are still open to you.”

“If there’s a warrant, the ports won’t be open to me, and if the bastards arrested me aboard your ship, it would kill yer mother.”

“The
Sulphur
has a secret hold,” Sean pressed, but he could see the stubborn set of the FitzGerald chin. “Then let one of the Murphy brothers take you across to France.”

“I’m the Earl of Kildare, do ye think for one minute I’d let the
English
run me out of my own country? Not bloody likely!”

“That’s just stubborn Irish pride! You know my father’s motto:
Always do what’s expedient.”

“Sean, lad, if our people are to survive, we must break England’s stranglehold. It’s up to men like me. If an earl of the realm of Ireland doesn’t take a stand, who will?”

“Then I’ll stand with you,” Sean declared.

“Ye’ll not! You and Joseph are the next generation. If we fail, you are Ireland’s only hope. If my generation fails at insurrection, your generation must try to achieve independence through diplomacy. Promise me ye’ll keep Joseph out of this; ye know what a hothead he is.”

Though Sean O’Toole was thoroughly frustrated by his grandfather’s attitude, he had to accept it. The Earl of Kildare was his own man, who made his own decisions, and Sean believed that was the way it should be. He went straight home to Greystones, hoping his father would return today. At least he was able to assure his mother that he had warned her father, and that Grandfather was safe for the moment. He did not tell Kathleen of her father’s stubbornness, but he did share the information with Paddy Burke.

    
T
he light was fading from the sky when Joseph arrived home from Dublin, where he had gone to buy new clothes for his trip to London. He burst into the house as if the devil were on his tail. One look at his ashen face was enough to tell them he had nasty news.

“It’s all over Dublin that Grandfather has been taken!”

“But I just spoke with him this afternoon at the Murphys’ house,” Sean protested.

“That’s where they say he was taken, in Thomas Street … rumor says there was shooting!”

“Mother of God, if he’s been arrested, they’ll have him
fast in the bowels of Dublin Castle. I must go to him,” Kathleen insisted.

Paddy Burke tried to caution her. “I think ye should wait for Shamus.”

“I should, but I won’t,” she said bluntly.

“We’ll come with you,” Joseph decided.

“That you won’t, and no mistake!”

“I’ll go with Kathleen,” Paddy Burke said. “We have to keep you out of this if we possibly can.”

Sean fixed Mr. Burke with a piercing dark look. “I’ll take my mother to Dublin Castle. You prevent Joseph here from following us. I promised Grandfather I’d keep my brother out of this.”

They took the carriage into the city. Small groups of Dubliners stood about on the streets with grim faces. At the castle Sean’s mother insisted he let her do the talking. She announced herself regally. “I’m Kathleen FitzGerald, eldest daughter of the Earl of Kildare. I demand to see my father.”

They had to wait ages while one official brought another. To each one she repeated her demands, which were met by excuses, delaying tactics, and outright refusals, but Kathleen would not take
no
for her answer. Sean’s admiration for her was boundless; she epitomized the traditional Irish take-charge woman, and he watched the English officials back down, one by one.

Finally, they were escorted to a cell beneath Dublin Castle where Edward FitzGerald had been incarcerated. When Kathleen saw that her father had been wounded, her Irish temper flared. She berated the guard who accompanied them for not tending to him properly.

The Earl of Kildare, however, was furious with his daughter and grandson for coming to his prison and involving themselves.

Sean bribed the guard to step outside the cell and give them a few moments of privacy.

Kathleen’s anger was now mixed with a liberal dose of fear. “If you die, I’ll never speak to you again!”

“Ye might think ye have a duty to me, but your first duty is to your sons. They should be out of Ireland by now!”

“You had no right to sacrifice yourself for Ireland, Father!”

Sean knew what his mother did not: His grandfather was in great pain and weakened from loss of blood. When their eyes met, Sean realized his grandfather knew he was dying.

“I’ve been struggling for our nation’s soul. The English practice degradation, persecution, and exploitation on us. Sean, pledge to me that you’ll take care of Joseph.”

They clasped hands. “I will,” Sean vowed.

With most of his strength gone, Edward allowed Kathleen to tend the wound in his belly. Bravely, she cleansed it and rebound him tightly with linen strips torn from her petticoat.

The guard opened the cell door. “Your time’s up.”

“Your bloody time in Ireland is up, you English pig!”

The guard raised the butt of his rifle, but Sean stepped in front of his mother and fixed him with a malevolent stare from dangerous pewter eyes. The guard took an involuntary step backward.

“If aught happens to the earl, we’ll be bringing charges of murder.” Sean’s low tone held such threat, the guard backed off completely.

By the time they arrived home, Shamus had returned. He listened in silence until Kathleen had exhausted her outrage, then he slipped his powerful arm about her to lend her his strength. Turning to his sons, he said, “You two young devils are on your way to London. Tonight!”

Sean and Joseph, with a crew of three FitzGeralds, boarded the
Sulphur
just after midnight. It was decided the crew would drop them off in London and return for them in a month’s time, provided they were not wanted men.

*   *   *

    
T
he O’Toole brothers were almost torn in half, wanting to stay with their family in the face of grave trouble, yet knowing they must get away before they became embroiled in Ireland’s Troubles. It was what their family wanted, it was the intelligent thing to do, but it wasn’t easy. Both were covered with guilt and felt akin to rats deserting a sinking ship.

Safe on the
Sulphur
, headed for England, Sean took first turn at the ship’s wheel while Joseph rested. He gazed up at the stars thinking they looked like diamonds scattered across black velvet. As the
Sulphur
cut cleanly through the sea, Sean’s thought processes cut through the emotion, down to where suspicion had taken root.

Someone had betrayed Edward FitzGerald. Why did his mind come back again and again to William Montague? On the surface there was no logic to it. Montague was deeply involved in the treasonous business. He was the one who had stolen the guns from his own country. The O’Tooles and the Montagues had been partners for eighteen years and neither had ever betrayed the other.

Sean probed deeper, searching for motive. How could Wily Willie profit from such treachery? And then it came to him. Why was he interested in betrothing his daughter? The answer came back:
to make her Countess of Kildare!
Sean sighed and admitted the real reason he suspected Montague was because he was an Englishman. That was reason enough.

Later, in his bunk, when sleep finally claimed him, his dreams were vivid.
A woman sat with her back to him. She was completely naked. Her back was beautiful, curved delicately, skin like pale velvet. Dark hair covered her shoulders like a cloud of smoke. He lifted the silken mass to expose the nape of her neck. He touched it with his lips, lost in the taste and smell of her. His mouth trailed a possessive path down her spine to the small of her back. That secret
place was so sensual, he was in a frenzy of passion to make love to her. He knew full well who she was, without glimpsing her face. But she was not his to take. Why was it forbidden fruit always tasted sweeter? She belonged to William Montague; she belonged to Joseph O’Toole; she did not belong to him; not yet.

His mouth moved lower. The tip of his tongue traced the cleft that separated her beautiful bottom cheeks. His need was so great, he began to quiver with longing. He gently turned her to face him, then drew back his hands in horror. Blood poured from a belly wound; the eyes were those of Edward FitzGerald. “Sean, pledge to me that you will take care of Joseph.
”

Sean awoke with a start and slowly became aware of where he was. Damn William Montague, damn Amber Montague, damn Emerald Montague!

    
A
nd indeed, Emerald Montague thought she
had
been damned. The ugly redbrick house in Portman Square, filled with ornate antiques, was like a mausoleum without the laughter of her mother. Emerald was bereft, mourning her mother’s loss as if she had died. She longed to be off to school as a blessed escape, but her father quashed that hope immediately. School would take her out of his control and that was unacceptable to Montague.

Instead, he employed Mrs. Irma Bludget as governess. Bludget was no such thing; she was disciplinarian, jailer, spy, and informer. She was a big-boned woman who dwarfed Emerald, or Emma, as she was now called.

After her mother’s radiant beauty, it was difficult for Emma to even look at Mrs. Bludget. Her eyes bulged from her face in the most unattractive way, and they missed no detail; her mouth was virtually lipless, her teeth small and pointy.

Montague had not been reticent when he explained her
duties. “I want you to obliterate any and all traces of Irish tendencies you find in my daughter. The Irish are abhorrent to me! She is no longer to be known as Emerald. From now on, she is only Emma. I want her appearance changed also, starting with her hair. I want everything changed: her clothes, her speech, her books, her music, her attitude, and most of all her defiance. Her mother was a wanton, so you must see that she is never tainted. I want her obedient, I want her chaste, and I want her
meek.
”

From the day Bludget arrived she made Emma’s life a study in misery. All mirrors were removed, food was rationed, and Emma was chastised over every word, every action. Her hair was clipped off and she was forced to repeat droning prayers to keep her from sin and cleanse her of the devil.

Mrs. Bludget agreed wholeheartedly with William Montague that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. When Emma complained bitterly to her father that Mrs. Bludget had beaten her, he informed her with grim determination that if she ever again gave that good woman cause to beat her, she could expect another beating when he arrived home.