Free Songs of Love and War by Santa Montefiore Page B

devastated. Not only had she lost her darling da, but she believed
she
was to blame. If she hadn’t gone with Mr Mills and the boys the
tinkers would never have seen her. If she hadn’t screamed so loudly her father might not have come out of O’Donovan’s. Oh, if only she hadn’t gone to find Kitty at the wall
none of it would have happened and her father would still be alive. Sean comforted her as best he could, but she was inconsolable.
    Michael accused them both of recklessness. ‘You’re a pair of shoneens, the two of you! A few of Lord Deverill’s pheasants for the life of your da!’ he shouted, his dark
face purple with rage. ‘Was it worth it? Didn’t he say never to look a tinker in the eye?’ Old Mrs Nagle’s eyes were dry for she had witnessed the deaths of so many during
the potato famine that her tears had all been used up. However, beneath her scrawny chest her heart bled for her daughter and her loss. She wanted to know if anyone had said the Act of Contrition
in Tomas’s ear before he went cold to ensure that he bypassed Purgatory on his way to Heaven, but there was no one to reassure her.
    The tinker responsible for the murder had been arrested at the scene of the crime and was likely to be sentenced to hang. But that was of little consolation to Mrs Doyle. ‘Hanging is too
good for the likes of him,’ she said in a deep and quivering voice. ‘May the Devil take his soul and burn it in Hell for all eternity, God save us.’
    Tomas Doyle was laid out on the kitchen table for two days. Mrs Doyle had flung open the window to let out his spirit. Two old women known as the two Nellies, Miss Nellie Clifford and Miss
Nellie Moxley, arrived in their white dresses and blue veils to wash the body clean and Father Quinn was called to do the anointing. He arrived in his thick robes, his grey hair blown about by a
bitter wind, his face red with indignation that one of his flock should be taken by an inebriated thief. Being so tall he had to bend his head as he strode into the cottage. ‘He was a good
man,’ he said to Mrs Doyle, kneeling by her side as she sat snivelling on her rocking chair beside the hearth, clutching her rosary beads. ‘He’s with the Lord now, Mariah. Indeed
and the man who did this will rot for all eternity in the fires of Hell.’ His voice was surprisingly soft and tender and Bridie stopped crying with the shock of it. She watched her mother
look up at the priest with big, shiny eyes and her face relaxed into a beatific smile, as if his words had literally lifted her grief out of her heart and replaced it with the certainty that her
dear Tomas was with Mary and the Angels. If Father Quinn had said it, it must be true, for Father Quinn knew the mind of God.
    ‘Michael,’ said Father Quinn, standing up and towering over Tomas’s sons. ‘You’re head of the family now. Sean, you must help him on the land. You’re needed
here. And, Bridie?’ He settled his powerful gaze on the child, who felt herself tremble beneath it. ‘You will help your grandmother in the home until you are old enough to work at the
castle with your mother.’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ she replied quietly.
    He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘And it wasn’t your fault. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ she answered, unable to stop the tears from spilling over onto her cheeks.
    ‘You must be strong for your mother. And, Michael?’ he said and his voice had once more taken on its habitual severe and uncaring tone.
    ‘Yes, Father?’
    ‘Don’t go casting blame. Every action has a consequence and we can never know what that consequence might be. However, it is God’s will and we mustn’t question
it.’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ Michael replied obediently, disguising the craving for vengeance behind dark impenetrable eyes.
    Lady Deverill visited with a basket of food. She paid her respects to Tomas Doyle and sat with Mrs Doyle and Old Mrs Nagle, giving comfort as best she could. ‘You