Brendan looked startled, as though none of this had occurred to him. ‘I admit Sylvie may have been spoiled as a child, but she’s had it hard recently,’ he said. ‘As for coming to Ireland to see Kitty for herself, she can’t possibly do that at the moment because of the pub, you see. It’s her livelihood and she’s trying to persuade the brewery to grant her the licence, now that her mother-in-law’s gone. Of course, I can’t promise you that Sylvie wouldn’t want to keep Kitty, but I can promise you that she would never do so against the child’s will. And none of that explains why you came meekly over and sat down beside me if you think I mean to take Kitty away from you.’
Maeve twisted round so that they were facing one another. ‘I’m not very big and I’m not very strong, and I’m a bit of a coward, so I am,’ she said haltingly. ‘When I set off in the early hours of this morning, I was after thinking it all a great adventure. I’d got me savings so I could pay a bob or two for a hot meal and a night’s lodgings, and I’d a bottle of cold tea and a few apples to keep me going until I needed something more solid. I stopped outside the village to eat the soda bread I’d bought, because I wanted you to get really well ahead, for at that stage I didn’t mean to catch you up. But then, as I sat there . . .’ She told the story of the two farm boys flatly, without exaggeration, and saw Brendan’s eyes widen as he took in the implications. ‘. . . so I saw, then, that if I went on alone I might end up in real trouble or even wit’ a knife between me shoulder blades,’ she concluded, giving him a rueful smile. ‘And there were you, hurrying ahead of me, a big strong chap what would put the fear of God into half a dozen ploughboys, or a whole band of tinkers. So when I saw you asleep under this tree . . .’
She said no more, since Brendan was nodding his comprehension. ‘You’re right; a thousand bad things could happen to you and we must pray to God they’ve not happened to Kitty,’ he said. ‘So we’ll strike a bargain, shall us? I’ll keep you safe while we’re on the road, and when we find Kitty and Nick we’ll persuade them to come home with us, back to Handkerchief Alley. As for crossing the water, what say we put it to Kitty, ask her if she’d like to visit her real mammy, just for a few days. Will that do?’
He was looking down at her so kindly that for a ridiculous moment Maeve feared she would burst into tears, but she pulled herself together as Brendan got to his feet and helped her to hers. ‘There’s one thing you’ve not explained,’ she said huskily. ‘Why are you doing all this for Sylvie? Caitlin said you were talking about buying a farm in Ireland . . . why did you go back to Liverpool at all?’
There was a long pause whilst Brendan gazed down at the ground, almost as though he did not know how to answer her question, but at last he looked up. ‘I’ve been in love with Sylvie for years, but it weren’t no use ’cos she were married,’ he said quietly. ‘Only now she’s a widow and, as I’m sure I’ve said, very alone. She begged me to find Kitty, to bring her back to Liverpool if that was what the child wanted, and I do believe that when I show her her daughter is safe she’ll agree to marry me.’
‘I see,’ Maeve said, after a longish pause. So engrossed in her thoughts was she that she did not speak again as they walked along the lane. She was tired from the unaccustomed exercise and glanced at Brendan a couple of times to see whether he, too, was again growing weary, but he seemed unaffected.
Presently, he looked down at her, giving her a wry smile. ‘You’ll be tired, alanna, for you’ve been on the road longer than I have and your legs are a good deal shorter than mine. The next cottage we find we’ll see if they can put us up for the night.’
‘If I’d not caught up with you, Brendan, when would you have stopped for the night?’ Maeve asked. ‘I’m not tired, you know; I can go on for a while longer.’
‘Oh, if I were by meself, I’d walk till dark, or until I came to a hamlet or a decent-sized farmhouse,’ Brendan said. ‘But I’ve not been walking since dawn.’
Maeve tightened her lips; she would not hold him back, would not admit that she was tired until she reached the end of her tether, which was not yet. ‘We’ll go on,’ she said decisively. ‘If I can’t keep up, though, I’ll tell you and mebbe you could slow your pace a little.’
Brendan laughed but nodded. ‘Right, you set the pace,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But remember, you’ll do Kitty no favours if you try too hard and collapse on me.’
‘I know that,’ Maeve said scornfully. ‘But we’d best not talk; I’ll need all me breath for walking.’
Kitty and Nick were beginning to enjoy life in the caravan, though Granny Trotter was a demanding invalid who seldom allowed them to rest. She told them she wanted to rejoin her band, who would be on their way to the horse fair, but Nick told Kitty, privately, when they were out collecting turfs for the fire, that he did not think this a good idea at all. ‘Once she’s wit’ her own folk, she’ll either turn us off or treat us like her servants,’ he said. ‘I know we saved her life an’ that, but tinkers aren’t like ordinary people. They’ll close ranks agin us, and mebbe drive us out.’
‘We aren’t much better’n servants now,’ Kitty pointed out, seesawing the turf-cutting tool which she had been given into the soft tobacco-coloured peat. ‘It weren’t our idea to come out cutting turf on a day when the sun’s shining so hot, and we may not need it if we’re going to pass through wooded country; wood burns a lot easier than turfs.’
‘It’s not for burning now; it’s for puttin’ in the nets under the cart, so’s it can dry out for later,’ Nick said, rather breathlessly. ‘She knows an awful lot, old Granny Trotter. I thought I knew a thing or two, but she’s taught me no end.’
‘We’ve got more work than we can manage to keep the queen of the tinkers as idle as the day is long,’ Kitty said rather bitterly; it was, after all, she who did all the cleaning and cooking, she who carted Granny out of the caravan so that she could point out the best potato clamps to rob, the driest turf to steal, or the best cabbages to cut, for now that spring was well advanced, living was easier for travellers who had no gardens or animals of their own.
At first, Granny had nagged them to go in a certain direction, but Nick soon realised that if they listened to her they would end up with her band, and this he had no intention of doing, so quite often they let old Tugger have his head for miles and miles, despite Granny’s screeching and wailing, and when they came across a tempting woodland path which was wide enough to take the caravan they would turn down it, gathering wood as they went.
‘But we can’t stay with the old girl for ever,’ Kitty pointed out as the two of them lugged a sack of turfs across the patchy, boggy moorland, back to where the caravan waited. ‘I often get the feeling that one day the old devil will send the pair of us miles away on some wild goose chase or other, and when we get back we’ll find that Tugger and the caravan have gone.’
Nick stopped short and stared at his companion, round-eyed. ‘I reckon you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s just the sort of thing she would do, though at the moment she really does need us. The beating she took means she can’t even bend down to light the cooking fire without gasping and groaning, and she’d never manage to dip water out of the stream and carry it back to the cart. Why, it takes the pair of us, and I reckon I’m a good deal stronger than her. That’s another good reason for not catching up wit’ the band. We’ll bear it in mind, old Kitty, because I don’t fancy finding us alone on the moors without so much as a cottage for a dozen miles.’
Kitty was about to reply when she heard a plaintive miaow and saw Tommy trotting towards them, tail erect, eyes blazing. Even in this desolate moorland country, the cat never hung around asking to be fed, but caught frogs and field mice, though he was happy to accept a saucer of milk when they managed to get to a cow before the farmer did. Kitty had been overjoyed, the day after the fight in the clearing, to find him sitting expectantly outside the caravan when she opened the door in the morning. He looked none the worse for his temporary absence, and, not for the first time, she wished that he could talk. Even Nick had been pleased to see him, although he said philosophically that cats would always avoid trouble if they could, and he had known all along that Tommy would turn up. Cats, he said darkly, knew when they were well off.
Now, Kitty dropped her end of the sack in order to give Tommy a welcoming hug. ‘If the old girl ever does abandon us somewhere, we’ll get Tommy to hunt rabbits for us,’ she said, only half jokingly, for the cat had brought in young rabbits a couple of times when they had been in pastureland. He had eaten part of the animals and had seemed quite happy for Granny to commandeer the rest for her cooking pot. She had shown Kitty how to skin, joint and prepare the carcasses, and though Kitty had made no secret of her dislike of the task Granny had insisted that she should do it in future since ‘me finger bones aches whenever I moves ’em . . . ah, Jacky, may he burn in hell, has a lot to answer for.’
Because they were on moorland they could see the cart, with its bright yellow and green paintwork, a good way off, so they knew they had not been abandoned by Granny today. Indeed, when they reached the caravan, Kitty popped inside for a moment and found the old woman still in her bed, though she stirred herself when she saw Kitty. ‘I didn’t get up ’cos I knew you’d be wantin’ to spread ointment on me hurts,’ she said querulously. ‘You should ha’ done it afore you went gadding off, but you young ’uns never give a t’ought to another’s pain.’
Kitty gave a gasp of indignation. ‘If you think cutting turf is gadding off then you’re even stupider than you pretend to be,’ she said roundly. ‘And a fat chance I had of anointing your bruises ’cos you just gobbled up your breakfast porridge, pointed out the best peat hag, and then snuggled down again under your blanket. Why, you were snorin’ before we were through the doorway.’ As she spoke, she had been getting down the various ointments and salves from the cupboard at the end of the caravan and now she took off the clean rags she had bound round the worst of Granny’s hurts, noticing as she did so that the bruises had largely disappeared and the wounds had pretty well healed over. Even the damaged arm was less painful than it had been, and Granny did not mention it more than three or four times a day. Nevertheless, Kitty smeared the ointment as she was bidden, ignoring Granny’s frequent moans, small shrieks and urges to ‘treat me careful ’cos I’s been hurt bad’.
She might have spoken sharply to the old woman had not Nick entered the caravan, saying as he did so: ‘Fancy a nice rabbit stew, Granny? There was a fine fat doe in the trap this morning. I’ll do the skinning and jointing while Kitty prepares the veg.’
The old woman’s eyes lit up, but it seemed she did not intend to show any appreciation of the meal to come. ‘I could do wit’ some nourishment after the rubbish you’ve been feeding me,’ she grumbled. ‘Is rabbit all you know? Eh, but I wish I were back wit’ me band. Alecky-jem is a grand robber, so he is, and I just fancies a chicken stew.’
‘In that case we’ll get off this moor and into the hills,’ Nick said, ignoring the old woman’s howl of protest. ‘If you ain’t satisfied with rabbit, Granny, then we’d best get on to farmland once again, though I don’t mean to go robbin’ farmyards when there’s a fine big rabbit in the pot.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Kitty, you make all fast in here; it seems we’re movin’ on.’
Maeve and Brendan fell into a comfortable routine. They walked and questioned, lost the trail and found it again, were cheerful in good weather and made the best of bad, and Brendan noticed that Maeve would not give in and admit she was tired even when her face was white with fatigue, and her crutch faltered with every step. Tales of two young people in a colourful gypsy caravan had given them pause for thought. They had reached wild and lovely country, and had stopped a young man in a donkey cart. He had been surprised to be hailed by a couple of walkers, but obligingly drew his equipage to a halt. ‘If it’s a lift you’re after looking for, then you’ve chose the wrong feller, for me cart’s crowded enough with the old sow and her bonaveens,’ he had said jovially and Maeve, standing on tiptoe, had seen that the cart was indeed well filled with an enormous sow and at least a dozen piglets, all cuddled up together in the straw, with a net slung over them to prevent escapes. Brendan, peering as well, had laughed, but shook his head. ‘It’s information we’re after, not a lift,’ he had said. ‘We’re searchin’ for a couple of kids – lads they are – what have gone adventuring when they should be in school. They’ve a big old grey cat with them, and the little chap is wearin’ a blue pullover. This young lady’ – he had indicated Maeve with a jerk of his thumb – ‘is their auntie, doin’ her sister, their mammy, a favour, for she’s in mortal dread they’ll fall into bad company and end up dead.’
The young man had laughed and shaken his head, but then stopped short, an arrested look on his face. ‘Wait on; I have seen a strange t’ing, only a couple o’ days ago. I seen two young fellers wit’ a green and yellow caravan pulled by a big old piebald. It struck me as strange, ’cos tinkers’ carts is like gold dust to ’em; they wouldn’t go trustin’ a decent cart like that to a couple o’ kids. Come to that, it’s very rare you see a tink by hisself; there’s safety in numbers, so they say, especially when they’re stealin’ from every man whose land they pass through. Why, even when autumn comes and there’s acorns aplenty in the woods, I doesn’t let the pigs to graze on the nuts if there’s tinkers abroad.’
‘That sounds as if it might be – be me nephews,’ Maeve had said excitedly. ‘Was there a cat wit’ them?’
The young man had considered this, but only for a moment, before nodding vigorously. ‘Now you mention it, I did see an animal of some sort. I thought it were a dog, but it could’ve been a cat.’
Maeve had beamed at him and thanked him profusely, and the young man had driven on with a cheerful wave. As soon as he had gone, Brendan had turned to Maeve and given her a hug. ‘Now we know we’re not far behind them, ’cos he said he saw the cart a couple o’ days ago,’ he had said exultantly. ‘They’ll be a bit faster than us in a cart, I dare say . . .’