verse.
‘Indeed,’ the provost said, observing him keenly. ‘And is this the way to the Waterford coach?’
McAllister looked on the point of giving up, as if he might confess everything and throw himself on the mercy of the provost. It was rumoured Dr Baldwin had killed a man himself once in his youth in England, but that didn’t mean hewould be likely to forgive the crime in others.
‘Please sir, I asked my master if we might call by my aunt before we undertook our journey, since we may be gone some time. She lives nearby in St Patrick’s Lane.’ James knew this was a risk, but there was little time for elaborate invention.
The provost now turned his beady eyes on James, who had been, until that moment, as invisible as all servants are.
‘I am sure your master can speak on his own behalf. Do you usually make so bold as to speak for him?’
‘No sir, I am very sorry, sir.’
Dr Baldwin continued to eye them both balefully and looked in no way convinced by anything that he heard. Then his eyes lightened and lifted from them and, without another word, he moved off into the dawn, his cane clacking on the avenue.
McAllister immediately reached for a handkerchief to mop his brow. He was close to tears. ‘I can’t do this, James, I don’t have the strength for it.’
‘You must, sir. You mustn’t give up. We’re nearly out of the college now. And from now on, we’d better not be so quick with our names.’
McAllister nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, you’re right.’
Spurred on by their brush with danger, they walked quickly towards the gate that led out of College Park, and found themselves on the street where James had said his aunt lived.
‘What if he had decided to verify your aunt’s residence?’ McAllister asked.
‘No one’s curiosity extends as far as servants,’ James said simply.
McAllister gave him a sharp look but said nothing.
James led them on a circuitous northward route towards the river. In an alley off the quay they found an inn just opening for the day and they went inside the dark, tobacco-smelling room and called for food. As they were waiting, James inquired about the times of the packets to England.
‘Ten shillings will get you to Holyhead,’ he told McAllister on his return. ‘There’s a packet that leaves on the afternoon tide. But England will be dangerous; you’ll need to get passage for the colonies as soon as possible.’
McAllister nodded. He didn’t seem convinced.
‘I have the feeling that all of this is happening to someone else,’ he said. ‘The old McAllister and his life have vanished forever, and I have no idea what will replace them.’
He looked at James. ‘Would you come with me, James? You know you’re more than a servant to me. What is this city to you after all?’
It was a good question. What was there in this city for James other than hardship and possibly worse? Why not take the packet with McAllister and meet whatever new life it would lead to? Why not try his luck in the colonies? But McAllister’s question made James realise that, in spite of everything, his fate was bound up with this city. Only here could he claim his inheritance, when the time was right. Only here could he confront his uncle, only here could he find the justice that would restore him to his rightful position. After all, I am LordDunmain, he thought to himself as he considered McAllister and his proposition. He didn’t much feel like a lord right now as he ate his dish of cockles, and he didn’t have as much as a roof over his head, but there was no doubt in his mind as he shook his head.
‘No, I can’t,’ he said. ‘I must stay here even if it seems hopeless now.’
He told McAllister to write to him at the bookshop in the piazzas; the owner would keep any letters safe for him.
‘Best stay out of sight until it’s time to take the packet. And be careful as you embark, in case they’re watching.’
McAllister nodded and smiled a little
‘Indeed,’ the provost said, observing him keenly. ‘And is this the way to the Waterford coach?’
McAllister looked on the point of giving up, as if he might confess everything and throw himself on the mercy of the provost. It was rumoured Dr Baldwin had killed a man himself once in his youth in England, but that didn’t mean hewould be likely to forgive the crime in others.
‘Please sir, I asked my master if we might call by my aunt before we undertook our journey, since we may be gone some time. She lives nearby in St Patrick’s Lane.’ James knew this was a risk, but there was little time for elaborate invention.
The provost now turned his beady eyes on James, who had been, until that moment, as invisible as all servants are.
‘I am sure your master can speak on his own behalf. Do you usually make so bold as to speak for him?’
‘No sir, I am very sorry, sir.’
Dr Baldwin continued to eye them both balefully and looked in no way convinced by anything that he heard. Then his eyes lightened and lifted from them and, without another word, he moved off into the dawn, his cane clacking on the avenue.
McAllister immediately reached for a handkerchief to mop his brow. He was close to tears. ‘I can’t do this, James, I don’t have the strength for it.’
‘You must, sir. You mustn’t give up. We’re nearly out of the college now. And from now on, we’d better not be so quick with our names.’
McAllister nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, you’re right.’
Spurred on by their brush with danger, they walked quickly towards the gate that led out of College Park, and found themselves on the street where James had said his aunt lived.
‘What if he had decided to verify your aunt’s residence?’ McAllister asked.
‘No one’s curiosity extends as far as servants,’ James said simply.
McAllister gave him a sharp look but said nothing.
James led them on a circuitous northward route towards the river. In an alley off the quay they found an inn just opening for the day and they went inside the dark, tobacco-smelling room and called for food. As they were waiting, James inquired about the times of the packets to England.
‘Ten shillings will get you to Holyhead,’ he told McAllister on his return. ‘There’s a packet that leaves on the afternoon tide. But England will be dangerous; you’ll need to get passage for the colonies as soon as possible.’
McAllister nodded. He didn’t seem convinced.
‘I have the feeling that all of this is happening to someone else,’ he said. ‘The old McAllister and his life have vanished forever, and I have no idea what will replace them.’
He looked at James. ‘Would you come with me, James? You know you’re more than a servant to me. What is this city to you after all?’
It was a good question. What was there in this city for James other than hardship and possibly worse? Why not take the packet with McAllister and meet whatever new life it would lead to? Why not try his luck in the colonies? But McAllister’s question made James realise that, in spite of everything, his fate was bound up with this city. Only here could he claim his inheritance, when the time was right. Only here could he confront his uncle, only here could he find the justice that would restore him to his rightful position. After all, I am LordDunmain, he thought to himself as he considered McAllister and his proposition. He didn’t much feel like a lord right now as he ate his dish of cockles, and he didn’t have as much as a roof over his head, but there was no doubt in his mind as he shook his head.
‘No, I can’t,’ he said. ‘I must stay here even if it seems hopeless now.’
He told McAllister to write to him at the bookshop in the piazzas; the owner would keep any letters safe for him.
‘Best stay out of sight until it’s time to take the packet. And be careful as you embark, in case they’re watching.’
McAllister nodded and smiled a little
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