I had to admire their determination. The woman who had frowned when her mother frowned, nodded when her mother said anything, stood up when her mother did, had revealed herself to have some backbone in the face of three murders and what was beginning to sound like insolvency. And her sister had shown that no matter how shallow she might appear, she was essentially good-hearted and a no-nonsense kind of person, and she would do what she had to do as well.
"I'm sure you'll both be fine," I said. "And if you need any more information at all, please write or call me," I said, handing them each a business card. "I have e-mail, too."
They both smiled, Eithne wiping away her tears. They had lovely eyes, and friendly smiles. "Thank you. You may very well hear from us," Fionuala said.
It occurred to me with some surprise, as I watched the two of them walk arm in arm down the street, that I wouldn't mind if I did.
Chapter Fifteen. HE WHO DESCRIBES THE MOON'S ADVANCE
I want to know about the stolen child, the real one, I mean," I said to Malachy.
"That's just one of Denny's stories," he replied. "You shouldn't pay much heed to them. He's not quite right in the head, you know, although I am still proud to call him my friend. He thinks he was there, way back then, when all the battles were fought. The magic ones, between the Tuatha de Danaan and the Fir Bolg and the Fomorians. As far back as that."
"Then I want to know all about the Byrne family," I said. "Where they came from, what they did before they got here, everything. There must be someone who would know."
"Kitty McCarthy," he said. "Although she's getting on a bit. She was with them when they came here, many years ago. The housekeeper and nanny for the children. Denny's sister."
"Where do I find her?"
"The pub," he replied.
"She lives in a pub?" I said.
"Not in a pub," he said, laughing. "Over a pub. Over the Boar's Arms and Brigid's place. The tearoom. Brigid's Kitty's stepdaughter, Denny's niece."
I made my way along the main street, and into the door that separated the bar and the tearoom, and then quickly up the stairs. I knocked on the door where I had first met Kitty McCarthy. Brigid answered.
"I'd like to talk to your mother," I said to her.
"Whatever for?" she asked, perplexed.
"About the Byrne family," I replied.
"She'll not want to be talking about that," Brigid replied.
"People are dying, Brigid."
"I've noticed," she said tartly. "People who worked there, too. So my mother won't be talking to you, or anybody else on that subject."
"Who is it, dear?" a quavering voice inquired.
"Nobody, Mother," she called back in to the room.
"It's me, Mrs. McCarthy, Lara. The person who was here for Eamon Byrne's clue." Brigid glared at me. "I want to talk to you about the Byrne family."
"Come in, then," Kitty replied. "I like to have visitors."
"Mother!" Brigid exclaimed. "We decided you wouldn't speak to anyone about the Byrne family. It's dangerous, remember."
"I'm practically dead already, in case you hadn't noticed, Brigid, so let the young lady in," Kitty said. She had a tone to be reckoned with. I expect she used it to good effect with the Byrne girls.
"Thank you," I said to Kitty, as she gestured to a seat on the sofa next to her chair. Brigid sat across from us, her face rigid with anxiety.
"I'm sorry," I said to Brigid, "but there are too many people dying. I feel that if I could just understand what is happening to this family, if the police knew, then maybe the killing would stop."
"What do you want to know?" Kitty asked, her hands trembling as she held the blanket around her, but her eyes still bright and intelligent.
"I want you to start at the beginning, when you first met the Byrne family, and I want to know why Deirdre thought the family cursed."
"All right," she said. "From the beginning. I was housekeeper to Eamon Byrne's father, Michael, known as Mick. Mick was a widower, his wife had died when the children were young, and he needed someone like me to look after his home."
"Was it around here?"
"Oh, no, farther north, near Galway. The children were almost grown up when I went there. Eamon was in his early twenties, and Rose, the daughter, was about eighteen."
"Rose Cottage!" I exclaimed. "I've always wondered why it would be called Rose Cottage when there aren't any roses around."
The old woman nodded. "Rose Cottage was named for her. Eamon doted on his little sister."
"Where is she now?"
"Dead. Long gone and buried," she said sadly, shaking her head.
"Go on," I said.
"There was very bad blood between Mick Byrne, and another man by the name of Mac Roth, Oengus Mac Roth, a landowner up farther north, by Sligo. Had been for years, generations even. We Irish can hold a grudge for a very long time. I'm not even sure what was at the basis of it. Sometimes, it doesn't matter what started it really. It just takes on a life of its own. Even those involved can't recall why it all began. Probably an argument over some sheep or something like that, way back many years, or generations, before. Perhaps it was over a dun cow."
She hesitated for a moment, and then laughed a little. "That was by way of a little joke. There's a very ancient tale in Ireland called the 7am bo Culainge, The Cattle Raid of Cooley. It tells the story of a huge war between the forces of Connacht, led by Queen Maeve and her king Ailill, and the forces of Ulster, with their hero Cuchulainn. It all started with a disagreement over a dun cow. But you understand what I mean, don't you? In any event, the two men were rivals, and their families were too, although as far as I know, they never had a chance to meet. At least not right away."
The old woman coughed a little, and her daughter brought her some tea. "Here, Mother," she said. "You mustn't talk too much." I thought she had tears in her eyes.
"I want to talk, dear," she said, waving her away. "I've been wanting to talk about this for years. I promised Eamon Byrne I never would, but I don't suppose it matters much anymore.
"Mick Byrne had big plans for his son and daughter. Eamon was already working with him in the family business-peat, I think it was at the time. Rose, he planned to marry to a widower in the area, a middle-aged man by the name of MacCallum, who had great landholdings near those of Mick Byrne."
"A strategic alliance, was it?" I asked.
"I suppose you could call it that," Kitty replied. "Between them, the two families would control much of the land in the area." She paused for a moment, taking a sip of tea before proceeding. "But Rose loved another, a young man she'd met at a dance. And his name was…" she started to choke a little.
"Mac Roth," I said taking the teacup from her and trying to steady her hand. "Don't tell me it was Mac Roth."
She nodded. "Owen Mac Roth. Son of her father's sworn enemy. She didn't tell anyone about it, except I think for me. She was so happy with her young man, and he was a looker, eyes so blue you could see the sea in them, a very lovely young man. And she was a beauty, too, let me tell you. But it wasn't to be.
"Eamon found out about Rose's lover, told his father, and Mick forbade her to see Owen ever again. But she did, and…" here the old woman paused and wiped a tear from her eye, "and with my help. She was so much in love, you see, and begged me to help her. I never could really say no to her, nor Eamon either for that matter. But Eamon found out again, and told his father, and this time, Rose was sent away to Dublin. I wasn't told exactly where: I suppose they thought I might tell Owen, and perhaps I might. The terrible thing was, Rose was pregnant with Owen's child. She was sent away to have the baby-the family said she was finishing her schooling in Dublin. And she was forced to give up the child the minute it was born. She told me she wasn't even allowed to hold it, not once, not even for a minute. She was told her baby was sick and had died, but she never believed it. It had all been arranged by Mick."