Blackwater Hall, County Kerry
April 1958
Even though she knew it was wrong, Hattie dragged a chair over to the painting in Mama’s room. It was a picture of sweet peas, white and purple, cascading over a trellis somewhere sunnier than south-west Ireland. A gilt frame trimmed its edges.
She lifted it off the wall.
Hattie had been in the room with Mama when Grandmother had shown her the safe, given her the code. She’d also been there when Mama changed the combination and placed the item inside. It must be valuable and would make the world of difference to Tomas and his family, but it meant very little to Mama, who, as far as Hattie was aware, had rehung the painting haphazardly and not touched it since.
She opened the safe and took out its contents, replacing the painting in its skew-whiff position, a thin wedge of bright wallpaper visible on either side of the frame.
On her way back to the garden she passed Albert. The gun was cocked open over his forearm and he took confident strides towards the house. ‘Forgot my knife,’ he said, indicating his belt, which hung unadorned on his hips. ‘A quick patrol for hares is in order. Don’t want your spuds getting munched, squirt.’ At any other time Hattie would have told him hares didn’t eat the poisonous potato leaf. Albert frowned as she hid her hand behind her back. ‘What’ve you got there?’
She paused, considering her answer. ‘A gift,’ she lied, ‘for you.’ This last she added as a warning: Don’t make me show you.
He grinned, feigned disinterest, then made a grab for her. She turned and ran from the house and left him laughing in the doorway.
One day, years later, Hattie would reflect that it was the last time she ever saw Albert that way.
She returned to the shed just as Tomas closed the door and bent down to pick up the apple crate at his feet. Straightening, he slowly cast his eye over the walled garden, its neat beds raised in lines, the occasional row of vivid green poking from the dark earth.
The air was heavy with the scent of damp; a thunderstorm was brewing over the Atlantic and headed their way. It was nearly five o’clock, the end of Tomas’s last day. The first heavy drops of rain plopped on the path, turning the pale gravel grey. More droplets followed – splat splat splat – until they rolled together into a shower and Hattie squealed and ran the last fifty yards, skipping over freshly tilled earth.
It was pointless to seek shelter. She was soaked already. ‘I have something for you.’
Tomas raised his eyebrows. A drip of water fell from his nose. ‘It had better not be pity,’ he laughed, as though he were suddenly a man without a care in the world.
Hattie held out her hand. ‘You can sell this. I think it’s worth a lot of money.’
Tomas frowned and looked down at the item in her hand. Its stones were dull in the greying sky, but there was no doubt they were real. Tarnished silver held them together. It looked like it hadn’t been polished in an age.
His brows set in a frown, as though he were searching for something in a forgotten past. Hattie stepped back.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘It’s mine,’ she lied.
His eyes never wavered from the comb. ‘You’ve never worn it before.’
‘Mama . . . she wouldn’t let me. It’s for special occasions.’
Water pooled around the joins that held the rubies and sapphires together. They were surrounded by dark stones. Obsidian. ‘When did she give it to you?’
Hattie paused. ‘For my birthday.’
He put out his hand, palm hovering over the jewels as though he were dowsing for something within. Something secret. Something hidden.
When he snatched it from her, she didn’t flinch. He held it at eye level, examined its butterfly shape. Breathing heavily, he dropped the apple crate from where it rested against his hip.
She looked at the ground. ‘It’s for you. So that you can start thatching. Even though it’s . . . windy.’ She grappled for Tabby’s words, which before had given him so much comfort.
From the closed fist that held the comb, thick blood mixed with rain, dripped to the ground and soaked into the gravel by Tomas’s feet. He looked towards the house. Then he brushed past her and was gone.