The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Seventeen

Byrne peered through the deluge out the carriage window and wondered if he would be able to see it from here. Hardwick was quite a large estate, after all. He'd not come from this direction when he'd seen the place before... or what he could see of it even then, over the high walls.

The third Earl of Hadingley, seventy or so years before, had the walls built as high as he could, the better not to see the farmers, villagers, and other such low persons if he could avoid it. And the two heirs since made no effort to lower them, obviously sharing his disdain.

Byrne shut the curtain, giving up on catching a glimpse. It was not likely anyhow, through this downpour, and staring out the window of his jostling coach was likely to give him a headache. The roads weren't well kept in these parts.

He'd not been here since his first time traveling through England. And he'd not been back after that, but he'd certainly kept his eye on this place over the years, in one way or another. He knew more than most about Hardwick and the village that bordered it to the west.

He felt himself jostled as the carriage hit a rough patch again. Those rough stretches were getting longer and with less time between, the closer they drew to the village, only confirming what he knew to be true.

Coton was in poor condition. The roads weren't the end of it, what with its declining populace and its state of disrepair and neglect. The current earl barely frequented his country seat, even with the large amount of land he owned and properties he was responsible for. He kept to London through the season and even beyond, his visits here short and perfunctory, even in the off-season.

Hence, without patronage, it was a village on its way out. Byrne should know. He'd left one just like it, after all.

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Cloghroe, Ireland

1802

Domhnall followed Father Fitzmaurice to the small cottage behind St. Augustine's, his mind teeming with questions, but Father said he'd not answer a thing until he'd seen Domhnall clear half his plate.

"Not a child," he grumbled as he ate, though he had to admit the roast and potatoes Mrs. Ryan had left was far better than the dried beef and beans he'd been living on at home. He'd almost cleared his plate entirely when he finally remembered what they'd come here for. "Now what does Linfield—" He broke off, finally glancing up at Father sitting across from him. He'd not looked closely at him before, but he now could see his dark cassock was streaked with yellow and blue and what looked like a small red hand print right in the middle. "What's happened to you?"

"The school is what. Mrs. O'Connell has a formidable look about her, but that doesn't seem to go far at keeping those wee beasties in order. I can't imagine why she thought adding paint to the chaos would help." He chuckled. "At least it was by the stream, but it's a wonder we weren't raided, with all the shrieking. I never had to break into the middle of a paint war before, not with your mother running things."

"She didn't even need to shout," Domhnall said softly. "She could silence them with a clearin' of her throat and a look."

Father stared at him sadly. "I meant what I said before. You can't live for the dead."

"And I meant what I said before." Domhnall pushed his plate away. "I am living just fine. I don't need you to—"

"Do you want to know what she asked of me?"

Domhnall shut his mouth, glancing away. "I'm sure I know already. And I imagine that's why you keep nosin' in when, even I don't need—"

"Well, that's just tough luck for you," Father said over him. "Because she did want me to nose in, as you say. She told me to look in and, furthermore, push you in the right direction if you didn't seem happy. And that wasn't all—"