THE GINGER-HAIRED MAN with the bristly bit of a moustache came back, just as he had promised.
Every night for the last week, Eily and John had emptied out the small earthenware jar they kept hidden under the bed and counted out their money. They had got a fine price for Muck and the hen-money added some more; then there was all they’d made on two visits to the market. Still, no matter how they added it up, they were short the amount due. Mary-Brigid wished for a miracle that would change the copper coins into silver or gold.
‘Come inside, Mr Brennan,’ said John. ‘We have the money for you.’
They all watched anxiously as the man counted out the money into the palm of his hand.
‘Mr Powers, there seems to be some sort of misunderstanding. This amount falls short of the terms agreed.’
John’s wide hands gripped the table. ‘There’s no mistake, Mr Brennan. That’s all there is. I’ve nothing left to sell. My rent is double what it was this time last year. It’s all I’m able to pay. You’ll have to tell that to Mr Ormonde!’
Mr Brennan seemed embarrassed. He looked around the cottage, taking in the young husband and wife with their two small children, and the old lady in the corner who glared fiercely at him. He hated this job of rent-collecting for Hussey.
‘I’ll talk to them, Mr Powers. Are ye sure you’ve nothing else to give me?’ he prodded.
‘No!’ said John firmly. ‘There’s only the food on the children’s plates and the clothes on their backs. Tell Dennis Ormonde that I have worked as hard as any man can work – and that’s all I have!’
Mary-Brigid watched as Mr Brennan scooped their money into a leather bag. ‘I’ll talk to Mr Hussey on your behalf,’ promised the man, now anxious to leave. They all watched as he hoisted himself onto the saddle of his sturdy grey mare and rode away.
‘Now we wait!’ said John seriously.