The old servants’ quarters smelled of damp and mice. Cold white fingers of light reached through the dirty window, touching the peeling wallpaper and aged furniture. Marie McKenna lay on the bed, her eyelids fluttering, her breath coming in bubbling wheezes. Ellen clung to her mother’s hand.
Orla O’Kane lowered herself to sit on the bed beside them. She reached out to touch Ellen’s cheek, but the little girl pulled away. Orla folded her hands in her lap.
“Why don’t you let your mummy sleep a wee while?” she asked. “I’m sure there’s something nice to eat downstairs. Maybe even ice cream. Come on with me and we’ll see what we can find.”
Ellen shook her head and pulled her mother’s arm around her in a puppet embrace.
“Why not?” Orla asked.
“Don’t want to.”
“All right.” She studied the girl’s pale skin and blue eyes. “You’re a pretty wee thing, aren’t you?”
Ellen buried her face in the crook of her mother’s elbow.
Orla leaned over and whispered, “What’s the matter? You going shy on me?”
Ellen peeked out from behind the arm. “No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
The little girl’s gaze shifted to something over Orla’s shoulder, her eyes darkening like a summer sky swallowed by rain clouds. Orla turned her head and saw nothing but shadows. When she looked back down to Ellen, the blue had drained from her eyes leaving a hollow gray.
“Gerry’s coming,” the child said.
Orla sat back. “Is that right?”
Ellen nodded.
“And what’s he coming here for?”
“To get me and Mummy.”
Orla stood, smoothed her jacket over her stomach and hips. “I see,” she said. “You’d better get some sleep, then.”
As Orla walked to the door, Ellen sat up and said, “You should run away.”
Orla stopped with her fingers on the door handle. “I’m an O’Kane, sweetheart. We run away from nobody.”
Ellen lay down and rested her head on her mother’s breast, turning away from the room and its milky light.
“Nobody,” Orla said to the child’s back.
She let herself out of the room, locked the door behind her, and descended the flight of stairs to the first floor. She found the Traveler there, leaning against the railing that overlooked the grand entrance hall. He watched her approach, a sly smirk on his lips. His swollen red eyelid seemed to wink at her as it twitched.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“You,” he said. “Were you up visiting with the wee girl?”
“Just making sure they’re all right.”
“What do you make of her?”
Orla shrugged. “She’s a child. A brave one.”
“There’s something funny about her, though,” the Traveler said. “Like she’s looking through you. Like she knows things.”
“You’re talking shite,” Orla said. She brushed past him, heading for her father’s room.
“Am I?” he called after her. “You look like you saw a ghost. What did she say to you?”
Orla stopped and turned on her heel. “She said Gerry Fegan’s coming.”
“Well, then,” the Traveler said. “We’d best be ready for him.”