way through.”
Susannah smiled, but there was a sharp sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know that there’s anything different about them, except that they’re my people. Their griefs matter to me.” She looked down at the table with its gleaming surface, close-grained and polished like silk. “Perhaps you’ll come to know them, and then I won’t need to explain. Hugo loved them, in the quiet way you do when something is part of your life.” She took a deep breath and looked up, forcing herself to smile. “Would you like anything more to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Emily said quickly. “I have eaten excellently. Either you or Mrs. O’Bannion is an excellent cook.”
“I am with pastry, not much else,” Susannah replied. She smiled, but she looked desperately tired. “Thank you for coming, Emily. I’m sure you would rather have spent Christmas at home. Please don’t feel it necessary to deny that. I am perfectly aware of how much I am asking of you. Still, I hope you will be comfortable here, and warm enough. There is a fire in your bedroom, and peat in the box to replenish it. It’s better not to let it go out. They can be hard to start again.” She rose to her feet slowly, as if trying to make sure she did not sway or stumble. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think I will go upstairs. Please leave everything as it is. Mrs. O’Bannion will see to it when she comes in the morning.”
Surprisingly, when she was out of bed the air was not as chill as she had expected. When the new peat was on the fire, she opened the curtains and stared at the sight that met her eyes. The panorama was breathtaking. The sky was a turmoil of clouds, rolling in like a wild reflection of the sea below, white spume topping the waves, gray water heaving. Far to the right was a long headland of dark, jagged rocks. Below was a sandy shore with the tide high and threatening. To the left the land was softer, stretching away in alternate sand and rock until it disappeared in a belt of rain and the outlines melted into one another. It was fierce, elemental, but there was a beauty about it that no static landscape could match.
She washed in the water that had been left in an ewer beside the fire, and was quite pleasantly warm, and dressed in a morning gown of plain, dark green. Then she went downstairs to see if Susannah was awake, and if she might like any assistance.
In the kitchen she found a handsome woman in her late thirties with shining brown hair and dark-lashed eyes of a curious blue-green color. She smiled as soon as she realized Emily was there.
“Good morning to you,” she said cheerfully. “You’ll be Mrs. Radley. Welcome to Connemara.”
“Thank you.” Emily walked into the warm, spacious kitchen, her feet suddenly noisy on the stone floor. “Mrs. O’Bannion?”
The woman smiled broadly. “I am. And that’s Bridie you can hear barging about in the scullery. Never known such a girl for making a noise. What’d you like for breakfast, now? How about scrambled eggs on toast, an’ a nice pot of tea?”
“Perfect, thank you. How is Mrs. Ross?”
Maggie O’Bannion’s face shadowed. “She’ll not be down yet for a while, the poor soul. Sometimes mornings are good for her, but more often they’re not.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emily asked, feeling foolish and yet compelled to offer.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” Maggie replied. “If you want to take a breath of air, I’d do it soon. The wind’s rising fit to tear the sky to pieces, and it’s best you’re well inside the house when it gets bad.”
Emily looked at the window. “Thank you. I’ll take your advice, but it doesn’t look unpleasant.”
Maggie shivered, her lips pressed together. “There’s a keening in the wind. I can hear it.” She turned away and began to prepare breakfast for Emily.
Susannah came down at about ten. She was pale-faced, and there was more gray in her hair than Emily had appreciated in the warmth of the previous evening’s candlelight. However, she seemed rested and her smile was quick when she saw Emily in the drawing room writing letters.
“Did you sleep well? I hope you were comfortable? Did Maggie get you breakfast?”
Emily stood up. “Excellent to all of the questions,” she replied. “And Mrs. O’Bannion is charming, and I have eaten very well, thank you. You are quite right, I like her already.”
Susannah glanced at the notepaper. “May I suggest you take them to the post before lunch? I think the wind is rising.” She gave a quick look towards the window. “We might be in for a bad storm. They can happen this time of the year. Sometimes they are very dreadful.”
Emily did not reply. It seemed an odd remark to make. Everybody had storms in the winter. It was part of life. As far as she had heard, they did not have the snow in Connemara that they did in England.
She returned to her letters and at eleven o’clock she joined Susannah and Maggie for a mug of cocoa. With the wind whining outside and occasional gusts of rain on the glass, sitting at the kitchen table with biscuits and a hot cup in her hands seemed almost like revisiting the comforts of childhood.
A twig clattered against the window and Maggie turned quickly to stare at it. Susannah’s thin hands clenched on the porcelain of her cup. She drew in her breath sharply.
Maggie looked away, meeting Emily’s eyes and forcing herself to smile. “We’ll be quite warm inside,” she said unnecessarily. “And there’s enough peat cut to last into January.”
Emily wanted to make some light remark to relieve the tension with laughter, but she could not think of anything. She realized that she did not know either of these women well enough to understand why they were afraid. What did a little wind matter?
But in the middle of the afternoon, the sky darkened with heavy clouds to the west and the wind was considerably fiercer. Emily did not realize just how hard it was until she went outside to clip a handful of red willow twigs to add to the bowl of holly and ivy in the hall. It was not as cold as she had expected, but the force of the gale whipped her skirt as if it had been a sail, carrying her backwards off balance. It was a moment before she steadied herself and leaned into it.
“Be careful, ma’am,” a man’s voice said, so close she spun around, startled, as if he had threatened her.
He was almost ten feet away, a large man with blunt features and dark, troubled eyes. He smiled at her tentatively, no lightness in his expression.
“I’m sorry,” Emily apologized for her overreaction. “I hadn’t expected the wind to be so hard.”
“Sure, it’s going to get worse,” the man said gently, raising his voice only just enough to be heard. He looked up at the sky, narrowing his eyes.
“Are you looking for Mrs. Ross?” Emily asked him.
He spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “An’ I have no manners at all. I’m thinking because I know you’re Mrs. Ross’s niece, that you must know me too. I’m Fergal O’Bannion. I’ve come to walk Maggie home.” Again he looked at the sky, but this time westwards, towards the sea.
“Do you live far away?” She was disappointed. She liked Maggie and had hoped she lived close by and would be able to come to Susannah even in the worst of the winter. Otherwise Susannah would be very much alone, especially as her illness became worse.
“Over there.” Fergal pointed to what appeared to be little more than half a mile away.
“Oh.” Emily could think of no answer that made sense, so she merely smiled. “I’m just going to cut a few twigs. Please go in. I’m sure Mrs. O’Bannion is just about ready.”
He thanked her and went inside, and Emily went to look for bright, unblemished stems. She was puzzled. What could Fergal possibly be afraid of that he came to walk Maggie home for less than a mile? There was no imaginable danger. It must be something else—a village feud, perhaps?
She found the twigs and returned to the house five minutes later. Maggie was in the hallway putting her shawl on and Fergal was waiting by the door.
“Thank you,” Susannah said with a quick smile at Maggie.
Emily laid the twigs on the hall table.
