As the sun was sinking in a cloudless sky, James put the last stone in place before heading up to the big house to collect his money. Pat was about to accompany him, but James asked him to wait by the freshly repaired wall, reminding him of the incident with Annie’s bowls. The old man shrugged his shoulders, denying any recollection of the event.
Walking around to the back of the large house, James mulled over Pat’s denial about what he had done. He was not sure if his uncle was being genuinely absent-minded, or just pretending.
“That was a fierce wind altogether, blowing over trees and knocking down walls, wasn’t it? The Master says you made a grand job of the repairs, McGrother. He asked me to convey his appreciation and says he will highly recommend you,” the butler smiled, handing over the day’s wage.
“Thank you kindly, I would be glad of the mention. I’m not one to refuse work,” said James.
As he was putting his cap back on his head before leaving the warm kitchen, the cook picked up from the floor an old chipped dish. She filled it with scraps for the little terrier that had been patiently waiting at her feet, wagging his tail and licking his lips.
“You didn’t happen upon a couple of old wooden bowls anywhere in the grounds, did you, Mister McGrother?” she asked. “I think this young scamp here must have run off with them.”
James shook his head and smiled. Mary had been right in assuming the dog would be blamed for the missing bowls. He was congratulating himself on having such a clever wife as he approached his uncle, who was walking around a bush, scratching his short, white beard.
“What have you lost now, Uncle Pat?”
“My jacket. I could have sworn I left it across the wall, just there,” the old fisherman answered.
“You did, right beside mine,” said James as he lifted his own one from the newly repaired stonework.
James looked around the shrubbery as he walked along the hedgerow. Nearing the entrance to a field, he saw the missing jacket draped across an old wooden gate. A large shire horse lifted his head to snort at the young man. James patted its long muscular neck as he called out to his uncle.
“You must have paid a visit to old Sergeant here and left your jacket on the gate. You’re lucky he didn’t eat it,” laughed James as the elderly man walked past him
“Oh, of course, now I remember,” Pat was puzzled but didn’t let on.
As he was putting on his jacket, he felt something inside the lining and discerned by the shape that it was a piece of cutlery. Not wanting to admit his confusion to his nephew, Pat remained silent as they left the grounds of the estate.
The men walked at an easy pace and as they turned into the road for home, James noticed a carriage parked near his cottage. Two constables stood up from the wall they had been sitting on when they saw the men of the house approaching, while two more came from the other end of the road. James and Pat stopped in front of them as Mary opened the door.
“They’ve been waiting here for the past half an hour for you James. They’ve pulled the place apart searching for something and would not let me send one of the children up for you. None of us, not even the neighbours, have been allowed to leave our homes.” Mary turned to address the constables, “Now will ye tell us what your business is with our family?”
“Evening, men,” greeted the older constable, ignoring Mary. “Would you mind answering a couple of questions?”
James and Pat removed their caps and nodded their heads.
“Why don’t we step inside, out of the gaze of prying eyes?” the older constable suggested.
He signalled to two of his men to remain outside and brought one of them with him. Once inside, away from the gathering neighbours, Mary offered to make tea. The constable declined and got straight to the point.
“Have you come from repairing a wall in the grounds of Freemont House?”
James said he had and that his uncle had accompanied him to help speed up the work.
“I would be much obliged if you would both remove your jackets and hand them over,” the constable said, nodding to his young companion.
James had reasoned that four constables and a carriage would never be sent on account of two old wooden bowls. He did as he was asked, without questioning, but Pat took a few steps backwards.
“Uncle Pat, what has you so flustered? Give them your jacket.”
James turned to look at the two policemen. “What’s this all about, anyway? What are ye looking for? I earned that money in my pocket.”
“It’s not money we’re searching for, McGrother,” the older constable said to James. He then turned to Pat and spoke in a much softer voice, “Come on now, be a good man and hand over your jacket. Don’t force us to take it from you.”
“I’m cold, something ails me. I should lie down for a while. Can ye come back later, when I’ve rested a bit?” Pat was walking towards his bed in the corner of the room, folding his jacket tightly around his body.
Before he had made it across the parlour, the two constables were upon him. One held onto his arms while the other tugged at the collar of his jacket. Young Thomas raced to Pat’s rescue, wrapping his arms firmly around the leg of one of the policemen. James was beside them in an instant, having seen the panic in his uncle’s eyes.
“Leave him be, for pity’s sake, he’s an old man,” James said as he peeled his son from the constable’s leg.
The men released Pat but stood close to him as James turned his uncle to face him.
“It’s me, James, your nephew. Look at me, Uncle Pat. That’s better,” the elderly man was beginning to calm down and James turned him around once more.
“Here, let me help you remove your jacket. The fire is blazing, sure it’s like a furnace in here, isn’t it?” James spoke in a soft voice and signalled to Mary.
Pat allowed himself to be guided to the wooden bench at the table in the centre of the room, and Mary sat down beside him, taking hold of his hand.
James felt something solid inside the jacket and frowned as he handed it over to the younger constable, who also noted the object. He rummaged through the pockets but finding them empty, began to inspect the seams. Just under the armpit was a hole large enough for his hand to fit through and when he withdrew it he was clutching a silver teaspoon. The cottage itself seemed to gasp at the sight, as did those who were gathered in the garden outside. The scene taking place in the McGrother house was being relayed to the neighbours by a child looking in through the window. The two constables outside where flanking the open door and wore a blank expression on their faces, acutely aware of how tense the people surrounding them had become.
“I’m afraid you will both have to come with us. That item was reported missing this afternoon,” the older constable said.
Mary had pushed herself in between James and the man who was leading him by the arm towards the door.
“Tell your wife not to make this any worse than is necessary, McGrother. Do you want your children to spend the next few days without a mother or a father to care for them?”
“Mary, move aside. These men are only carrying out their duty, they will soon find out this has all been a big mistake. Go on now love, you’re frightening the children,” James kissed her forehead.
The constables left the cottage, to be joined by their two colleagues. James and Pat were escorted from their home with a policeman on each side, one hand holding onto their prisoners and the other resting on their batons. They had to push their way through the muttering crowd standing between them and the carriage they had arrived in. It looked to James as if the whole village had gathered, not out of curiosity but to show support for his family.
A low disgruntled hum came from his neighbours and James was afraid some of the younger men among them might do something in protest. Sitting next to his uncle in the carriage, as his wrists were being shackled, James leaned his head towards the window and shouted out to the crowd.
“Go on home, all of you. I know you mean well, but we don’t want any trouble. We have done nothing wrong and this will all be sorted out in no time.”
As the carriage was pulling away, stones could be heard bouncing off the back of it.
“That was the sensible thing to say, young man. Things could easily have turned nasty back there. It’s the reason we didn’t put these on you before leaving your house. The sight of a man’s shackled hands can have a strong effect on his friends.”
“I didn’t do it for you, constable. I was more concerned about my family and my neighbours.” James looked at his uncle as he spoke, “Is it necessary to have manacles on an old man? Can you not see how distressed he is?”
Pat was talking incoherently to himself while waving his hands at something only he could see. Although the constables had not answered his question, James took note of their sympathetic expressions as they sat facing him.
“If you knew our family you would never have put these irons on our wrists. You can rest assured neither of us will be the cause of any trouble for ye,” he assured them.
“You know very well that a constable is never assigned to his own county and we’re not left in one place long enough to become too friendly with the locals. There would be little chance of any of us knowing your family too well,” responded the older policeman. “I’m sorry, McGrother, your uncle seems harmless enough but we have our orders and all prisoners must be restrained – old or young. I suggest you try and talk some sense into the old man before the head constable sees him, some prisoners have been known to act the lunatic, hoping for a more lenient sentence. He might not be as sympathetic as we are.”
“I’ve never seen him this bad,” James was at a loss as to what he should say to Pat. “I fear this has all been too much for him to bear. He has been in a fragile state of mind this past few years but more so since the death of his wife.”
Pat continued his mutterings, ignoring any attempt James made to reach him. It was in that sorry condition that the elderly fisherman was left in a cell in Dundalk jail, separated from his nephew and shackled to a wall.