Part 1 (1/2)
Ghost messages.
Jacqueline Guest.
For Gordon with love.
and to the real Eilish, a wild Irish la.s.s with true fire and a wicked sense of humour.
1.
Mystery Man.
”Magic awaits here!” cried the skeletal man as he held up a bony hand. ”Fortunes told by a thirteen-year-old girl born with the second sight a” the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter! One touch and Madame Ailish will lift the veil to give you a glimpse of the unknown!” He waved his s.h.i.+llelagh at an ancient wooden caravan. ”Step right up!”
Inside the wagon, Ailish O'Connor straightened the colourful gypsy scarf tied around her long auburn hair and swiped at a crumb of cheese that had fallen onto the crystal ball from her hastily eaten supper.
”Seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, my f.a.n.n.y,” she grumbled. ”If only. At least then I'd have some help around here.”
It was getting on to evening and more light would be needed for the next tarot card reading. She lit the coal-oil lantern, the wick flaring to brilliant life; then turned it down to make the atmosphere more mysterious for her next client. They seemed to expect it, though Ailish could have helped them just as much in an open field at noonday.
Ailish and her father were here in Valentia on Foilhummerum Bay to join in the festivities celebrating the voyage of the Great Eastern, the mighty s.h.i.+p that had the daunting task of laying the first transatlantic telegraph cable. Her da's pa.s.sion was s.h.i.+ps and this one was like no other in the entire world.
The undersea cable would join Europe and North America with almost instantaneous communication. Ailish imagined sending a message from here on the west coast of Ireland and having it received all the way across the ocean, in Newfoundland off the east coast of Canada, all in the wink of an eye. Now that was magic!
And Ireland could use something wonderful. Times were still hard, even years after the Great Potato Famine that had starved a million people. Her father, who could always see the bright side of things, when Ailish doubted such a side existed, struggled ceaselessly to make ends meet. She saw how the constant battle wore him down and because she loved him so much, she tried to ignore the irritating things he did a” like going to the local tavern and leaving her to deal with the customers alone, as he had done earlier today.
As Ailish waited, she watched an industrious brown spider spin its web in an arching corner of the caravan's ceiling, but no one seeking answers appeared at the door. Standing, she stretched the kinks out of her back and addressed the busy bug. ”If my customers only knew that I truly can see mysterious things, they'd appreciate my advice more. Maybe then I could raise my fee and we wouldn't have to worry on how to pay for our next meal.”
Only one living person took Ailish seriously, and that was Uncle Peter. He was not really her uncle, simply a family friend, and, if you wanted to get fancy about it, his proper t.i.tle was Sir Peter Fitzgerald, the Knight of Kerry. As the ruling authority in this part of Ireland, he was an important man to be sure, but Uncle Peter did take her uncanny talent seriously and always listened intently to whatever she revealed. He was her favourite customer and paid handsomely for her readings.
Clambering onto a wobbly twig chair, she pushed open the small window set high in the curved wooden wall and peered out.
It was late but there were still people about. Not long ago, the scene would have warmed her soul a” the turf fires smouldering, their peaty scent earthy and comforting, as the music of the fiddlers washed over her like a bright and bubbly tide. But now, it was different. Now she had no mother to share the pleasant evening with.
Early stars poked holes in the indigo canopy overhead and let dazzling pinpoints of light peep through. With a familiar pang, Ailish wondered if her ma was looking down through those tiny portals from heaven and missing them like Ailish missed her. It had been two long years since the fever took her and Ailish still ached. Tomorrow was July 23, 1865 a” it would have been her mother's thirty-fifth birthday.
She saw her da and a burly stranger walking toward the wagon. He was probably some ne'er-do-well her father had met in the pub today. Lately, her da had taken to visiting more of the drinking establishments than usual. Every town they'd pa.s.sed through, he'd find some excuse to leave her and then return hours later with never a word. This was no doubt the reason why their meagre store of hard-earned coins was now gone.
As she watched them approach, the tall man looked her way, and for an instant their eyes locked. Ailish took an involuntary step backward, slipping from her precarious perch and b.u.mping the table with her crystal ball, nearly knocking it to the floor. She felt unexpectedly fl.u.s.tered and fumbled with nervous fingers as she pulled off her scarf, then gathered her fortune-telling paraphernalia and tucked it into the small storage trunk.
Her father bustled into their cramped quarters, with the hulking newcomer filling the doorway behind him.
”Ailish, me darlin',” he began, making a grand gesture with his arm, ”Meet Rufus Dalton, a gent and a scholar. He's from the mighty Great Eastern and is here for a wee drink and a chin wag.”
He flashed her one of his devilish smiles and Ailish knew this would be a late night.
”Failte, welcome, Mr. Dalton.” Ailish reached out to shake hands.
The second their fingers touched an icy black serpent slithered down her spine. She recoiled. This man carried a terrible darkness with him!
Ailish s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from Dalton's grasp, hiding it behind her back. She turned to her father to see if he'd caught her reaction, but he still had that silly smile tattooed to his face. She wiggled her brows and slid her eyes toward the stranger, but her father was oblivious. What good did it do to have a daughter with the second sight, if you were so daft that you ignored the warning signs she sent? They could be in mortal danger.
”Something wrong?” the big man growled, his words thick with a coa.r.s.e English accent.
Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was simply tired. She sighed as an overpowering weariness wrapped her in its worn cloak. Perhaps this stranger was merely one more crooked sailor, a brigand a” ports were full of them.
”Ach, no sir, just a night chill. I'll fling a chunk of turf on the fire.” She went to the creel and busied herself stoking the potbellied stove with the peat they used to ward off the damp.
”Fetch the whiskey, Ails, me girl, and a couple of gla.s.ses.” Her da took off his coat and tossed it onto the chest of drawers they shared before lowering himself into the rickety chair she'd nearly fallen from moments before.
Ailish noted he used her nickname, knowing this was his way of trying to get on her good side when it came to his drink, which she regarded as a weakness. She avoided eye contact with the stranger and did as she was told.
Retrieving her favourite book, the one about a monster brought to life by a mad doctor, Ailish settled back against the thin wooden part.i.tion that separated the common room from her sleeping area. Peeking over the book, she saw her father pour generous dollops of the fiery amber liquid into the cracked gla.s.ses, then give one to Dalton.
”Slainte! Good health!” Her da took a long gulp of his drink before going on enthusiastically. ”This transatlantic cable is a grand adventure, to be sure, and I've heard miraculous things about the s.h.i.+p.”
”Aye, that be right,” Dalton agreed, taking a small sip. ”The world is filled with many seafaring marvels, but the Great Eastern remains the most fantastic of all. Why, she's five times bigger than any s.h.i.+p afloat!”
”*The Wonder of the Seas,' they call her.” Ailish's father took another deep draught of his drink.
Dalton nodded. ”And she carries fifteen thousand tons of coal, enough to sail near round the world without refueling. The Great Eastern is the exact right vessel for laying this cable.”
Listening to this, Ailish rolled her eyes. You'd think the two of them had single-handedly built the blasted boat, they sounded so full of themselves.
Although the visitor's gla.s.s was still half full, her father refilled it and his own, spilling a little onto the faded tablecloth in his haste. ”Coal, you say, but I heard she was a sailing s.h.i.+p?”
Dalton nodded, swirling the whiskey in the gla.s.s. ”She has six masts and enough canvas to cover a small village, but she also has a screw propeller and giant paddlewheels on either side which is why nothing stops her.”
Ailish went back to her book while the two men continued talking and drinking. The heat from the stove made her drowsy, and she'd almost dozed off when the sound of her name roused her.
”Ach, Ails, you've got this place as hot as Hades.” Her father wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, then removed his colourful orange striped vest, the one her ma had sewn for his birthday, and carefully draped it over the back of his chair. ”Ailish is the apple of me eye, Rufus. She has the second sight, you know. Famous, she is.”
He beamed with pride, but Ailish was tired and thoughts of her ungrateful customers leapt to her lips. ”For all the good it's done us. We're poor as church mice.”
”Now, now my girl, you've helped many souls and that's no lie.” Her father chided gently, his speech slightly slurred.
Ailish's temper flared with the peat. ”I work hard to help these folks but to them it's all sham, a penny's entertainment, and we end up spending our lives drudging around in this infernal caravan and eating champ!” The thought of another meal of boiled potatoes made her stomach gurgle unpleasantly.
”I know it's been hard since your ma died, Ails.” When he mentioned her mother, her da found something interesting to look at in the bottom of his gla.s.s, avoiding Ailish's gaze, and she felt guilty. She knew how much her mother's death had pained him too. ”But your ma would be proud if she knew you were keeping up the family tradition with your fey gift. Besides, me darlin', we won't be doin' this for long. I'm that close to makin' our dream come true.” He winked at her before turning to their visitor.
”We'll be living with my brother Seamus in Heart's Content, Newfoundland once this cable's laid. He's what you call a telegrapher, and a fine one if his letters are to be believed.”